Sins of the Father
by Anthony Devon
Summary: Sequel to Allies in Shadows... After the events of the previous year, Killian still remains Hermione's secret. But as their relationship continues to evolve, their trust in each other will be tested. Harry suspects Draco is up to something, parading down dark alleys and halls. An odd occurrence causes Hermione to have suspicions of Killian, as well. After all, Killian and Draco...
1. Chapter 1 - The House of Finn

_So I have not exactly finished my other project just yet. But I wanted to get back to this series. I missed it :/ I don't know if that is sad or not. Whatever ... This series always puts me in a good mood, reminds me of a better time, rainbows, unicorns, cute little puppies with cute little puppy hats doing cute little puppy things, and other such nonsense._

 _But I digress ... Moving on ..._

 _Actually there is nothing else. Enjoy the beginning of Sins of the Father ..._

 _\- Chapter One -_

 _The House of Finn_

"They're beautiful," Hermione said as she took in the fragrances of the foxglove flowers climbing one of the many trellises that laced the vast garden maze on the Finn family estate.

She could not help but notice that the foxgloves bore a striking resemblance to the paper flowers she had received the previous year. Nor did she fail to notice the hummingbirds that fluttered around, stealing the sweet nectar from other nearby flowers before zipping off to find a new target.

This, she found strange at first, as she had never known any species of hummingbird to exist in Europe. She had, in fact, never seen any class of hummingbird that matched their appearance. However, Killian had explained that his family had imported them decades prior and bred them on the grounds to frequent their gardens. A gift from his grandfather to his grandmother, and a luxury, such as it was, for the wealthy and influential.

"Blame my mother for this," Killian said as he glanced about. "She's strangely infatuated with all of these decorative bits of foliage."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she continued on through the maze. She had expected such a comment from him. It would be far too soft to admit any affection for flowers. It was, however, his idea to take a stroll through the gardens. As a matter of fact, the whole day had been his idea from the moment he unexpectedly showed up on Hermione's doorstep and Apparated them both to his family's estate. He claimed he simply had grown tired of conversing through letters. Hermione knew differently.

As soon as they arrived, it became apparent to Hermione that, aside from the servants and the family's odd looking house-elf, Killian was alone. He soon after admitted that his mother and father were attending an afternoon luncheon, giving them free reign to wander the grounds without his father's judging eyes monitoring them.

"How long has this land been in your family?" she asked as she walked along, periodically stopping to admire an odd flower.

"Too long," Killian answered. "Generations. Each one adding something new. My mother created this garden to connect the other smaller gardens dotting the area, my grandfather had the Solarium added, my great-grandmother had a library built and furnished, mostly to keep my great-grandfather out of her hair. Or at least that's what I've been told—"

"You mean _the_ library?" Hermione cut with mocked surprise. "The one that you're always bragging about in your letters? The one with all of the first editions?"

"The same," Killian replied, teasing with a proper tone and elegant wave of his hand.

"Well, I should like to see it, then," Hermione said with similar tone and gesture. "If you will escort me, sir," she went on, holding out her arm.

"I should be delighted," Killian answered as he took Hermione by the hand. "But first, we must find our way out of this labyrinth."

Hermione laughed. "You don't know the way?"

"Are you joking?" Killian teased. "I never come in here. Wretched botanicals."

Hermione laughed again, shoving Killian with her shoulder as they walked along. After several minutes of twisting and turning their way through the garden maze, they eventually found themselves at the exit overlooking an enormous field that stretched several hundred yards toward the family castle. It was nothing near the size of Hogwarts, but the stone towers and ramparts alongside a lily-laden millpond that stretched across the backside of the castle had a certain air of Celtic influenced architecture and culture that was pleasing to the eyes.

"Kuulic!" Killian called out. Seconds later, a twitchy little house-elf Apparated beside him.

As when they arrived and Hermione first encountered the Finn family's loyal servant, she found his appearance interesting. Killian explained that he was born with a rare deformity that twisted his features and proportions. His beady black eyes, smaller head, and frail hands were quite the contrast to any house-elf Hermione had ever encountered. Even his hair, like fine fur covering his form, set him apart, giving him much more the appearance of an upright weasel in ragged clothing than any of the servants whom worked the kitchens and dormitories at Hogwarts. His idiosyncrasies, however, were entirely on point.

"Master calls for Kuulic?" the dutiful minion asked, wringing his bony fingers.

"Yes," Killian answered. "I want you to…" He cut himself off, observing Hermione's expression of disapproval. "What I mean is," he started again with a sigh. "Would you be so kind as to grant me a favor?"

" _Favor_ , Master?" asked the confused house-elf, staring at Killian as if something were terribly wrong.

"Hermione and I are heading to the library," Killian explained, rolling his eyes as he tried to please Hermione with his presentation while not confusing Kuulic any further with his mannerisms. "I expect my parents will be arriving soon. Would you please watch for them and inform me of when they arrive?"

"Master _askings_ Kuulic?" Kuulic questioned, dropping his shoulders and head. "Why askings? Master never askings?"

"Because it's polite?" Hermione explained.

" _Polite_?" Kuulic asked on. It was clear that the concept was lost on him.

"Yes," Hermione explained. "It's the way decent individuals behave amongst one another."

Kuulic appeared to ponder this radical idea, scratching his head and, for some reason, finding it necessary to count on his fingers. What he was counting, exactly, Hermione could not begin to guess. After a moment, he simply looked up at Killian and shrugged.

"It's all right," Killian assured, shaking his head. "You can go."

"Yes, Master," Kuulic said with a bow, a wave of relief rolling across his face. "Kuulic hopes he has been _politings_ with you," he added to Hermione.

"That's not—" Hermione started, but Killian raised his hand to cut her off as Kuulic Disapparated with a pop.

"Please don't confuse him any further," Killian pleaded. "He's probably run off to beat himself with a rolling pin."

"You're not serious?" Hermione gasped, remembering how Dobby used to punish himself when he felt he had failed his master.

"Of course not," Killian replied with a grin. "He's not allowed to touch the rolling pins."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, unsure, as usual, whether Killian was being serious or clever. One way or the other, he was certainly amused with her reaction, his grin beaming as he headed down the long walk towards the castle.

 _What an idiot_ , Hermione thought as she eventually followed and caught up. _Forgivable, but still an idiot_.

. . .

As they entered the library, Hermione was immediately taken aback. Again, it was obviously no comparison to the library at Hogwarts, but was truly a thing to behold for a private collection, nonetheless.

There were two tiers in the room, overridden with several dozen rows of dusty tomes and other sorts of simpler literature. The walls on the lower tier were lined to the base of the second tier with first editions of every book that Hermione could imagine, and even more of which she had never even heard.

Killian made his way to one of two lacy Persian sofas that were set across from an enormous hearth lined on either side by granite ravens clutching a coat of arms bearing the Finn family crest. Hermione grabbed several books and made her way to the sofa opposite Killian, only then noticing the two overweight Mastiffs sleeping on the floor between the sofas.

"Don't mind them," Killian assured. "Glorified throw rugs. Black one's Seti, spotted one's Anubis. They won't bother you. It would require far too much effort on their part."

Anubis lifted his flabby head for a moment, almost as if to make a point, only to drop it again in lazy fashion. Hermione cautiously tiptoed through the beasts and made herself comfortable on the sofa, flipping through the ancient leather-bounds she had procured. Killian, on the other hand, seemed content to just sit, throwing his arms over the back of the sofa, dropping his head on the cushions, and resting his feet on the back of Anubis, who did not even flinch.

"I don't know how you can stand it," Hermione said, not looking up from her book. "I would never leave this room."

Killian sighed, giving a halfhearted glance about the library. "You'd be amazed at how easy it is for me to leave all of these rooms."

Hermione looked at him and shook her head dismissively. The ones who have it all appreciate it the least. As she was about to return to her pile of volumes, she suddenly noticed a particularly interesting book lying on the end table next to the sofa Killian was sitting on.

"What is that?" she asked quizzically.

Killian followed Hermione's eyes, saw the book, grabbed it, and gave it a quick once-over before tossing it to Hermione.

"It's a memoir," he said simply. "Baron Ludwig von Lichtenstein."

"Dear God!" Hermione gasped, amazed and horrified at the same time. "Why is it here?"

"Because this is the library," Killian answered as if the question might have been rhetorical. "Where would you have it be?"

"Killian, he was a Dark Wizard!" Hermione said, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. "You can't have this here! What if the Ministry did a sweep and—"

"It's just a piece of literature," Killian interrupted assuredly, "not some Dark talisman. I assure you, it's quite legal. We have a whole section filled on the subject."

"Where?" Hermione asked, closing the book and setting it aside.

"Upstairs," Killian answered, gesturing towards a spiraling set of gunmetal stairs that wound up to the second tier of the library.

Before he turned back, Hermione was off the sofa and heading up the stairs. Killian rolled his eyes, sighed, sat forward, and looked down at Anubis.

"Are you going to go after her, then?" he asked of the enormous beast.

Anubis rolled over onto his side, his layers of fat spilling over as if he were melting across the rug. Killian waved him off and headed after Hermione, who was already on the second tier, wandering through the aisles of books.

"If you're looking for direction," Killian teased as he caught up to Hermione, "all you have to do is ask."

Hermione ignored Killian's comment, her eyes dancing across the titles that lined the shelves. He had not lied. Every book on every Dark wizard and Dark art imaginable was neatly categorized before her. Memoirs, biographies, even books on incantations, which led Hermione to seriously doubt Killian's assuredness that the books were legal. It seemed against all logic that How-To books involving the practices of the Dark Arts would be something that remained unlisted in the Ministry's decrees of contraband.

 _Descending Magic_ by Alfonse Tanzar

 _Summoning_ by Asim aal Deus

 _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ by Artimus Tempus

The last one caught Hermione's eye.

"You have fiction shelved with non-fiction?" she asked, reaching for the book by an author of whom she had never heard.

"Come again?" Killian asked.

"Lords and Masters of Voldavia," Hermione clarified, displaying the book for Killian to see.

Killian laughed to himself as he reached for the book, taking it and giving it a once over of his own.

"It appears, as at Hogwarts, things do not get replaced as they were taken," he said. "If only we had the services of Madam Pince."

"If only," Hermione agreed with sarcasm. "Do you know much of it?"

"Of?"

"Voldavia," Hermione clarified. "Any of the stories."

"No," Killian answered, "not much. Fiction is not exactly my genre."

Hermione knew this to be true even as she watched Killian flip through _Lords and Masters of Voldavia_ before replacing it on the shelf in another area that was clearly not meant for fiction. So much for organization. Curious, particularly since Luna had once made mention of these stories, she went to reclaim the book before she was distracted by a series of literature. Particular literature. Dangerous literature. Literature that was far more interesting that anything of fiction.

Titles of which Hermione had never heard by authors she never knew existed, these books contained the darkest of magics, the most forbidden of incantations. As she churned through tome after tome, Hermione almost felt as though she should be hiding. It felt wrong to be reading such prose out in the open.

Killian, on the other hand, did not share in Hermione's inhibitions. Of course not, Hermione thought as she watched Killian casually walking up and down the aisle, pulling out a book here and there for a quick glance before replacing it on the shelf. Even if the books were illegal, which Hermione now very much believed them to be, it was highly unlikely that it would affect Killian's position on them. Rules were only technically broken when one is caught breaking them.

"Is this how you learned it all?" Hermione asked as she replaced one book for another.

"All of what?" Killian asked, simply to be difficult.

"Don't be a jerk," Hermione chastised, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Sort of," Killian conceded. "My sister actually introduced me to this wondrous world. She came upon this section in her second year; I was about seven. She was absolutely fascinated by it. As are you, apparently."

"Your sister taught you the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked quizzically. She had never actually met Killian's sister, but by the way he spoke of her, she did not seem the type to dabble in such things. Then again, Hermione never thought herself to be the type, either.

"Attempted," Killian corrected. "She was far better at it than I ever was. She has great control, greater than I could ever hope for. But it was stupid and dangerous," he added with a point.

A quick flash of the Room of Requirement passed through Hermione's head. She shuddered and shrugged it off. She never wanted to feel that way again. Clearing her mind of the subject, Hermione replaced all of the books and joined Killian, who was leaning up against the banister overlooking the hearth on the first floor.

"It's nice," she said as she leaned up on the banister.

"What's nice?" Killian asked.

"All of this," Hermione answered. "The garden, the library, your lazy dogs."

"I'm glad you approve," Killian said, tipping his head. "I wish you could have come sooner. This summer has been terribly mundane."

"Well, the new term will be starting shortly," Hermione offered.

"Wonderful," Killian teased. "Finally, we can carry on under the cover of darkness again."

Hermione smiled and nudged Killian with her shoulder. Before Killian could respond with a gesture of his own, Kuulic Apparated in a wisp.

"They're returned, Master," he said to Killian before offering Hermione an awkward bow. "Politeness to you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was not worth attempting to explain. At least he was trying. Killian left the banister and walked towards the door that led out to the second floor of the foyer. He carefully opened it a crack and peered through.

"I assume we can expect your full financial support?" came the voice of an older man.

"Of course," came another voice that Hermione recognized from the Howler Killian had received from his father the previous year. "No assumptions are necessary. I'll make the arrangements immediately."

"Excellent," the first voice sounded with approval. "We'll be meeting at Spinner's End in a few weeks. This news will be pleasing, I'm certain. Particularly now, situations being what they are. But back to my original query in regards to your…" the voice tapered off as Killian closed the door and made his way back to Hermione.

"Ambassador duties?" she asked.

"Ever the diplomat," Killian answered. "Time to go."

"So soon?" Hermione teased. "I think I might like to meet your father."

"I'd like to be king of the world," Killian pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "We all have our little disappointments."

With that, Killian took Hermione's hand. Feeling a tug in her belly followed by a quick secondary sensation like being pressed through a sheet of water, they were back at Hermione's house, a stone's throw from the doorstep. Hermione, seeing where they had Apparated, turned to Killian and cracked him across the chest.

"You're going to get us caught!" she chastised.

Killian laughed dismissively. "Caught by who?"

"The neighbors," Hermione said, exasperated. "Or my parents. Did you think about them?"

"Your parents wouldn't mind," Killian assured with a smile. "They believe me to be a perfect gentlemen."

"They don't know any better," Hermione retorted, crinkling her nose. Although she had to admit he did present an excellent first impression for them earlier that day.

Seeing no remorse in Killian's expression, Hermione finally gave up and dismissed his complete lack of responsible behavior.

 _Absolutely impossible_ , she thought.

It was amazing to her that she enjoyed Killian's company as much as she did, being that more often than not she felt like giving him a swift kick to the shin. Still, they connected in some odd way. How that was, Hermione would not even try to understand. They were opposites in nearly every facet, with the exception of their mutual desire for perfection. This common ground, incidentally, often pit them against each other in one form of intellectual competition or another.

"Guess this is the last time we'll get to be out in broad daylight for a while," Killian pointed out as Hermione turned and sat down on the stoop in front of the door.

"It's awful," Hermione lamented.

"I know," Killian agreed, sitting beside her.

"It's just," Hermione began, stopped, and then began again. "Last year was utterly ... It was horrid."

"Not all of it," Killian pointed out with a soft smile, sliding his hand over Hermione's and gently interlacing their fingers.

"I know," Hermione agreed, smiling in return. "But that night … And those weeks that followed … I don't ever want to feel like that again."

"Well, don't pick any more fights with Slytherins," Killian teased. "And don't ask me to teach you anything," he added with a nudge. "If we work within those guidelines, I think it should makes things significantly easier."

"You know what I mean …" Hermione sighed with disgust. "I hate denying you. I just wish we could be like everyone else. Who cares what they all think?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Killian said regretfully.

"I know," Hermione conceded.

It was far more complicated than that. Especially with what Draco had revealed to her last year. If it got out that she and Killian were … well, whatever they were, it would certainly complicate things. Becoming an outcast among her peers in Gryffindor, having to choose between Killian and her own House. It was not a decision she wanted to make.

On the other hand, even though they could not be out in the open, she also was not going to take any chances.

"Wait here," she said as she got up quickly and entered her house.

Moments later, she returned, holding a silver necklace with a small silver ring strung through it. She knelt down behind Killian and fastened it around his neck as he looked at her quizzically.

"What's this?" he asked as Hermione made her way back beside him and sat down.

"It's one of my rings," she answered with a smirk of her own. "I'm marking you."

Killian laughed. "Marking me?"

"That's right." Hermione said. "I have ears. I've heard what some of the girls have said about you, Slytherin or not. I'm not about to sit around while some gaggle of silly little school girls follow you around like lost puppies."

Killian laughed again. "Now you're just feeding my ego."

"Your ego doesn't need feeding," Hermione assured with a sigh. "It needs a leash."

"Aren't you worried someone might recognize your ring?" Killian asked as he examined the tiny silver circle hanging from his neck.

"No one at school would recognize it," Hermione explained. "I've never worn it there. But it's clearly a girl's ring, so anyone who sees it will know that you're not available," she added cleverly as she turned her nose in the air.

Killian raised an eyebrow, leaning into Hermione. "And how do I mark you, then?"

"You don't," Hermione gasped in jest, pushing Killian away. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Ah, trust," Killian conceded with a sigh as he stood up and stretched. "The mark of the fool."

"You're not leaving already, are you?" Hermione asked as she stood and dusted her pants.

"I should probably head back," Killian answered. "I'm sure my father's looking for me by now. Probably has some political drabble of which he feels I need to be informed."

"Well, I guess if you have to go …" Hermione sighed and put on the best faux forlorn expression she could muster.

Seemingly amused with the performance, Killian laughed to himself. "Then again, what do I care about political drabble?"

With that, he sat back down on the stoop, Hermione at his side. Together, they remained there for over an hour, watching the sun go down over the horizon, talking endlessly about the most important bits of absolute nothingness they could come up with. Summer would end soon, and with it, these simple moments as well. Hermione put her head on Killian's shoulder, pondering what the year would bring. It certainly could not be worse than last year. Absolutely impossible.


	2. Chapter 2 - Properly Improper

_Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm ... I don't know how I feel about this chapter. Seriously, I don't. I don't even know what I mean by I don't know how I feel about it. But from the moment I finished typing it out, I have questioned whether I should delete it. Why? I have no idea. Thus, the hmmmmmmmm ..._

 _Oh well, I hope you are not as torn about it as I am. Enjoy ... hopefully :/_

 _\- Chapter Two -_

 _Properly Improper_

As the new term began, it was, in many ways, almost as if the previous term had never ended. There was always something, even when there was nothing. This time it was Draco Malfoy and his odd behavior at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. While Hermione was not entirely on the same page with Harry and Ron, it gave her an opportunity to keep her mind occupied.

Hogwarts itself had gone through a series of changes for the new term. There was, as was customary every year, a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Oddly enough, this year, it was Professor Snape who assumed the role. After all the years of patient frustration, he had finally gotten the position he so longingly desired.

A new professor to Hermione, Professor Slughorn, assumed the, now vacated, position of Potions master. He was quite a lively addition to the school with his boisterous mannerism and over-the-top idiosyncrasies. He also seemed, almost immediately, to be quite taken with Harry. Not that this should have come as any surprise. Most everyone in authority always seemed to be either taken or disgusted with Harry. Wherever the center was, Harry found himself there more often than not. Not that it bothered Hermione. It was merely an undeniable observation.

With Slughorn inserted as the Potions instructor, Harry and Ron found that their O.W.L. scores, lower than the necessary requirements for Professor Snape, fell well within the requirements for Slughorn. Alas, their desire to become Aurors after graduation was still alive and well.

Luck had clearly befallen them. Even more so for Harry, who, because of his belief that he would not be taking Potions, was given a lender copy of the textbook, previously annotated with helpful hints and unique original spells. It had already come in quite handy for their first day of class, as he used these notations to brew a flawless Draught of Living Death. This, Hermione had to admit, frustrated her, as her own attempt, despite her best efforts, fell shamefully short. Shamefully by her standards, at any rate.

Even more shameful, Hermione almost convinced herself the annotated lender may have been both cursed and purposefully placed for Harry. In truth, it was more Ginny's concern that brought this potential revelation about. After all, the youngest Weasley had fallen prey to a journal of malintent several years prior.

Alas, after thorough scrutiny, the textbook was simply that … A textbook.

Feeling frustrated with her failure in the classroom and ashamed of her behavior that followed, Hermione found solace in the one place that always brightened her mood. Even better, said location was also quite often relatively deserted in the evenings. Only a few other bookworms within the school would find solace in a room of literature and knowledge. The fact that Killian happened to be one of them was mere a coincidence.

"I think I'm most nervous about Apparition," Hermione said, feigning an interest in the tomes that lined the shelves as Killian, his back against a row of books, cloaked himself in reading.

"Nonsense," Killian dismissed. "Nothing to be nervous about."

"Right," Hermione playfully disagreed. "Except for splinching. Other than that painfully potential consequence, it's a pleasant afternoon walk."

"You just need to remain focused," Killian said with a grin. "Why the sudden concern? You were fine with me."

Believing they had spent too much time in one area and needed to move along before someone noticed, Hermione took a book from the shelf, made her way to one of the long pitted tables, and sat down as Killian inconspicuously set himself across from her.

"That was just a Side-Along," she said, her eyes on her book, now more careful to keep her voice down. "And … Actually, it was a bit scary. It felt … different. Not bad … Just different."

Killian paused for a moment, biting his bottom lip. "That can happen," he explained. "Depending on location, distance, and other such variables. No doubt that's why it felt different."

"I don't mean different like that," Hermione clarified. "I mean, it's not as if I have anything to compare it to. That was my first experience with Apparating. I just meant it was a different feeling as a whole."

Once again, Killian took a moment. Long enough that Hermione dared to expose them by casting a deliberate glance in his direction. She saw a troubled look upon his face that gave her concern. It was not like Killian to be at a loss for words. Even less so for him to look troubled. Furthermore, nothing in their conversation seemed to be any catalyst for onus.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Killian stood and walked over to a more secluded area of the library, indicating with his eyes for Hermione to follow. After a moment, so as to disallow any connection, she complied, although now both curious and concerned.

"What is it?" she asked, after assuring there were no eyes upon them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Killian asked in return.

"Tell you what?"

"You'd never Apparated before."

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "I didn't really get a chance, I suppose. When you said you wanted to show me something, I thought it was something you had brought with you. Then you grabbed my hand and we were off."

Another pause. Killian looked to the floor and ran his fingers through his hair. "I should have asked," he said. "I just assumed you had before. With everything you've been through, I just … I didn't know."

"Killian, it's all right," Hermione assured, not seeing the seriousness in Killian's perceived offense.

"No," he argued. "It is absolutely not."

Killian reached out and grasped a thin lock of Hermione's hair that had fallen in her face and slid it to the side as he had done so often before. It was one of the simple little nothings, almost subconscious actions, Hermione never grew tired of.

"When I learned to Apparate," he began, "It was made very clear that when you perform a Side-Along, you are taking control of someone else's body. It's not their will, it's yours. I took control of you, Hermione," he went on. "You had never done anything like that before and I didn't even ask."

"Killian …" Hermione said, tilting her head to meet Killian's eyes that were still focused on the floor. "… If you had asked me, I would have said yes."

"That's not the point," Killian argued.

"But it is," Hermione argued in return. "I had never Apparated with anyone before. Never Apparated at all. Now I have … And it was with you," she concluded, hoping it did not come out sounding silly or girlish.

Hermione had never viewed Apparating way Killian displayed it. It was nothing more than a form of transportation, like a port key or Floo Powder. But that was just on the surface. When one looks deeper, Killian was right. To take someone on a Side-Along, you are quite literally taking control of their body, bending it to your will, to your destination. From that point of view, it was beyond intrusive. So much so, she was surprised she had not seen it as such before.

Yet, Killian had. To the point of guilt. It was Hermione's first time and he felt as though he had stolen it from her without consent. Truth be told, she had given the moment to him willingly, whether he requested permission or not. He would beat himself up over it nonetheless. Ever the gentleman behind the curtain.

Seemingly accepting Hermione's explanation, Killian straightened up. "I suppose you could have done worse for your first Side-Along," he said with a raised eyebrow.

And there he was. The much more recognizable, not quite Slytherin, persona he presented so often had returned.

"I hate you," she teased with a groan as she turned and made her way back to the main area of the library.

Once settled aside another row of texts, Hermione closed her eyes and began massaging her temples. Killian came up alongside and leaned against the shelves, grabbing a book and flipping randomly through the pages.

"First day of classes and you already have a headache?" he teased. "You're in for a rough year."

"It was a long day, is all," Hermione dismissed.

"If you're tired," Killian suggested in jest. "Maybe you should head back to your dormitory and get some rest."

Normally, Hermione would have had an enthusiastic counter or witty quip. A sigh and roll of her eyes in the very least. This time, however, all she could muster was a weak nudge of her shoulder into his as she causally passed him and continued down the rows.

Killian followed close, yet safely behind until they turned the corner of one section and began down another.

"I thought you said you weren't angry," he said.

"I'm not," Hermione promised, placing her hand on his chest, sliding it up and adjusting his tie which was slightly askew. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Have I missed something, then?" he asked.

Had he? Had she?

Hermione was angry with herself for not succeeding in Potions earlier in the day. She was angry with herself for trying to discredit a textbook partially out of jealousy. She was even feeling a bit off due her disbelief in Harry and Ron's theory about something being afoot with Draco. Last year, should would not have been quite so doubtful on the subject. Skeptical, maybe. Cautious. But not doubtful.

Why her conversation with Killian over what seemed like an insignificant moment brought up such thoughts and feelings, Hermione could not fathom. Now she was flooded with emotions and questions. Questions about herself, questions about others, questions of which may not, in the end, even have answers.

And it was more than just a used textbook with scribbles from a previous owner. Prior to the debacle in Potions, she, Ron, and Harry had taken their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Snape. As had been the story for each of their previous years, Professor Snape and Harry did not start off well.

In truth, Professor Snape's actions, singling out Harry as an example for the class, was borderline improper. Not because of what he did, per se. More that it was Harry. They have a history, after all. No, it was Harry's snide comment that upset Hermione. Ron, of course, thought it was brilliant. Hermione could not have disagreed more.

Perhaps upset was not the correct term. Hurt might better define the emotion. Harry and Professor Snape had been at odds since the moment Harry set foot in Hogwarts their very first year. But he had always been the student and Snape always the Professor. There was anger, for certain. In all of that, however, Harry had never been so blatantly disrespectful. Not only blatantly, but publically, as well, as the comment was purposefully made for the entire class to hear.

And again, Hermione did not defend Professor Snape's actions. But Harry was no better. Perhaps he was worse.

It was bound to come along sooner or later. Boys mature, machismo inflates, and suddenly they are more sure of themselves than they have any right to be. It simply was not the Harry Hermione had grown to know in previous years. He had changed. Not much, and arguably not for the worse. Still, he had changed.

And it was not because of the loss of Sirius. Although, no doubt, that played a part in it, as well. It was simply the inevitable evolution of one's person as they grow up and mature. It made Hermione sad to think of what that meant, if it even meant anything at all.

And then there was Killian, feeling guilt for a moment of perceived impropriety. A moment Hermione had not even given a second thought. After all, said moment was with Killian. As ridiculous as it seemed for someone like herself, Hermione knew there was very little she would not feel comfortable with when it came to him. She might fight him on it just for the challenge, for the passion it imbues, or simply just because … But in the end, she would give in to him, just as he would give in to her.

Hermione wondered if Harry or Ron, or any of her peers for that matter, would have reacted as Killian had done had they believed they had taken improper liberties. After all, they had graduated from the age of innocence and were well into the age of rebellious youth. For some, taking liberties from another almost seemed like a bragging right versus an improper action. Everyone was so different now. Almost everyone.

"Are you there?" Killian asked on, waving his hand before Hermione.

"What?" she asked in return, realizing she had been off in her own thoughts for a moment.

"I was just talking about how Filch caught the Snitch in a pickup game of Quiddich among the faculty," Killian explained.

"Wait …" Hermione was taken aback. "Are you serious?"

"No," Killian answered with a grin as he leaned in close enough for Hermione to feel his breath on her skin. "Just seeing if you're paying attention," he added in a whisper.

Hermione was hit with the wafting scent of peppermint, reminding her of the Amortentia potion Professor Slughorn had brewing in his classroom earlier that day. Hermione had taken in its aroma, describing it to the class. Fresh cut grass, new parchment, and another scent she did not mention out loud.

She could not place it at the time. Not the scent itself, but more of why it would make her feel uncomfortable to the point of holding her tongue in front of her classmates. Now, she knew … It was Killian. His breath so very often smelled of peppermint. A little detail that was never on the forefront of Hermione's mind, but always present nonetheless.

Without thinking, Hermione slipped her hand behind Killian's neck and pulled him towards her, kissing him gently on the lips. Not overly intimate or drawn-out, but long enough to matter. When Hermione released, Killian looked at her without retreating.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For being you," Hermione answered.

"I'm me all the time," Killian argued with a grin. "You hate it, as you recently pointed out."

"I do," Hermione agreed with a reserved laugh to preserve the quiet atmosphere of the library. "But I'd miss it if it went away."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to miss it …"

Killian ran his fingers through Hermione's hair, his hand coming to rest just beyond her ear. Hermione then closed her eyes as he leaned in and returned her kiss with a tender fervor that curled her toes and drew back her shoulders as the taste of peppermint invaded her tongue.

 _Don't ever change …_ she thought as the anxiety of being caught was silenced by the desire to feel his weight upon her. _Please don't ever change …_


	3. Chapter 3 - Unexpected Posts

_Another chapter ... I would write more, but my hand hurts ... and my arm ... and my leg ... and my neck. My ear, however, feels perfectly fine. So, there's that. On the plus, at least it is all relegated to the left side of my body. Uniformity and all._

 _Alas, I digress ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Three -_

 _Unexpected Posts_

The next few weeks of the new term were as dreadful as Hermione imagined they would be. An exchange of glances in the halls, a second of eye contact, a subtle touch that no one sees as they pass within inches of each other; these were the moments that she and Killian shared.

As such, she spent many nights in those first few weeks staring at the ceiling, wondering how she was going to make it through the year, constantly dodging in and out of the shadows for fear that someone might see. It was wretched. Wretched, but necessary.

Hermione was not alone in her torment, though. She had received numerous letters from Killian via the house-elves. Crimna had been especially helpful in this regard. Hermione hated using the timid servant, but had to admit that the house-elves were the best way to transfer any message in secret. And aside from that, said delivery system had allowed her to realize that Killian was suffering just as much. Somehow, that made it easier to bear.

"Wake up, 'Ermione!" Ron nudged her as he chewed on a mouthful of muffin. "You're staring off into space."

Hermione straightened up and refocused on her breakfast. She had not been staring off into space at all. She was, in fact, staring off towards the Slytherin table, clearly longer than she should have been. She hoped, as she took a large drink of her pumpkin juice, that no one else had noticed.

"Bit early in the term to be losing sleep," Harry teased.

"It's never too early to get ahead on some reading," Hermione covered up. "You two would be best to realize that yourselves."

"Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do." Ron laughed sarcastically, bits of muffins tumbling from his lower lip. "Right after breakfast, I'll be heading off to the library for some extra-credit work."

Hermione sighed as she brushed muffin crumbs from her robes. "Yes, well, in the meantime, would you mind keeping your breakfast to yourself, Ron?"

From the corner of the Great Hall, owls began arriving with the morning posts. Students at all of the tables glanced upwards in anticipation as the feathered messengers swooped down delivering letters, small packages, and copies of the Daily Prophet to those who were subscribers.

On this particular morning, nothing came Hermione's way. At the Slytherin table, however, she noticed an owl drop a letter that, quite literally, hit Killian atop his head. He was caught completely unaware, being one of the few students who continued to eat, completely ignoring the daily morning madness from the skies.

This made complete sense. Ordinarily, there was no reason for Killian to look up. He rarely received any posts. He had told Hermione as much on several occasions. Aside from the previous year's Howler and the annual birthday card he would receive from his sister, the morning owl deliveries were never something that afforded him any amount of expectation.

This morning was different, however. After being blitzed by the envelope, Killian looked up from his plate and eyed it quizzically. He then abruptly arose from his seat at the table and left the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on the envelope as if it were something extraordinarily odd. Hermione, now thoroughly intrigued, thought momentarily about going after him. But another comment from Ron about ' _snapping out of it_ ' quickly changed her mind. She would simply have to wait on this one. She hated waiting.

. . .

Unfortunately, as the fates would play out, waiting was exactly what Hermione would have to do. In keeping with the rules of secrecy, it seemed far more difficult this year for her and Killian to get away than it had been the previous year. This, she believed, was in part because the entire Slytherin House was aware of their relationship and made it very rare an occasion that Killian was not accompanied by a housemate. The Slytherins may have been sworn to secrecy, but that did not mean they were going to make it easy for them. Still, Hermione's curiosity about the unexpected post was not something she wished to put in a letter, so their exchanges remained simple and argumentative, as usual. She simply waited and observed.

Over the next week, Hermione saw two more letters arrive for Killian, each being met with the same response. Killian would retrieve the letter and exit abruptly. Unlike the first post, however, with these new deliveries Killian did not leave alone. Each time, as he headed towards the exit he nudged Draco and signaled him to follow. Oddly, Draco obliged without batting a lash.

One morning over breakfast, it was especially difficult for Hermione to keep a vigilant watch over her Slytherin. Among other things, when the owls arrived, Harry finally received his own copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , swapping covers with his altered version so as to keep it in place of the new one.

Hermione saw that Killian received a post, as well. However, on this morning, he did not get up and walk out, with or without Draco. He simply looked at the letter, placed it down on the table, and slid it away. While it did not follow the pattern of previous deliveries, Hermione still kept a watchful eye.

As they read through the morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , they discovered that Stanley Shunpike had been arrested after a raid on his Clapham home. The fabulist conductor of the Knight Bus had been overheard talking about secret Death Eater plans.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron all knew that while Stanley was quite the blowhard, he was harmless just the same. As Ron pointed out, this was the same man who once claimed, while attempting to chat up a veela, he would one day be the Minister of Magic. It appeared Stanley's penchant for storytelling had gotten him in well over his head. And these were not the times to be pressing one's luck or inflating one's status on the streets with fabricated associations.

That conversation segued into another about the safety of the children at Hogwarts, how the Patil twins' parents wish to remove them from the school, how Eloise Midgen's parents already had. While Ron argued that Hogwarts was safer than their own homes, as the castle was protected by spells, Aurors, and Professor Dumbledore himself, Hermione was quick to point out the inaccuracies in this belief.

"I think he's left the school to do something for the Order," she said in a low voice, referring to Professor Dumbledore's reoccurring absences. After all, if he was not present, how could he protect the school or anyone who dwelled within? "I mean …it's all looking serious, isn't it?"

Neither Harry nor Ron answered. No response was necessary. They were all thinking the same thing. At least, for a moment they were. For in the next instance, Hermione saw that Killian had reclaimed the letter he had previously tossed aside and was walking along the Slytherin table where he nudged Draco as he continued on. Draco stood and followed Killian through the doors exiting the Great Hall. The routine had repeated itself for a third time. This time, however, Hermione decided to follow.

"Where're you off to?" Ron asked as Hermione abruptly stood and gathered her things.

"I forgot something," Hermione lied.

"What about tryouts?" Harry asked.

"What?" Hermione asked in return.

"Quidditch," Harry clarified. "We were literally just talking about it. Heading down to the pitch in a minute."

"Right … Yes, of course" Hermione assured, heading after Killian and Draco as inconspicuously as one can be while being interrogated by their friends. "I need that … A minute, I mean. Just a minute."

Harry and Ron both continued their questions, but Hermione had gotten too far away to hear by now. As guilty as she felt with dismissing her friends in such an outright manner, she needed to know what was happening just outside the Great Hall.

Hermione did not have to go far for her answers. As she crossed the threshold, she could hear Killian and Draco speaking, albeit with a slight edge in their tone. Hermione stood just to the side of the doors and, hidden behind a large potted gardenia, watched and listened.

"Why is he sending this to me?" Killian asked as he waved the letter at Draco.

"Well, my father can't exactly send it to me, can he?" Draco snapped back, snatching the letter from Killian.

"It's not from your father," Killian came back.

Draco opened the letter and gave it a quick glance. His expression was that of uncomfortable surprise. He slowly closed the missive and tucked it away in his cloak.

"Well, you've always been a disappointment, right?" Draco said, wearing a smirk. "Maybe he's trading up."

Killian scowled and went to walk off. Surprisingly to Hermione, Draco stepped in his path, placing his hand to Killian's chest to keep him from leaving. The look on his face was almost apologetic, as off as that seemed for someone like Draco.

"Come off it, Killian … It was a joke," Draco pled. The reflection in his voice, the sharp cutting resonance of which Hermione had become so accustomed, was noticeably absent.

"Do I look like I'm in the mood?" Killian chastised.

"Look, I don't know why he sent this," Draco explained, removing the letter once again and holding it out. "I don't even know what it says. Read it if you like," he punctuated, extending the folded parchment towards Killian.

"If he needs to get something to you, have him send it to you," Killian said, pointing at Draco with conviction. "I'm not your messenger boy."

"Right," Draco scoffed. "Cause there's no likelihood that anything sent to me is going to be monitored. My father's not in Azkaban or anything." He paused, his face contorting into the much more recognizable expression of anger. Suppressed more than usual, but still there. "Bad enough half the school looks at me like I have a plague," he went on. "My family's name has become a joke. Even the Watchers …" He paused, clenching his jaw and massaging his forehead with his palm. "My mother says she thinks she saw one of them skulking about the manor grounds. So that's just brilliant then, isn't it? And now, you too?"

With that, it was Draco's turn to storm off. Hermione watched as Killian's expression faded from frustration to concern. He looked to the ground, kicked at the air, and finally ran after his housemate.

What in the world had she just seen? Killian passing messages for Draco? That was far beyond simply odd, parental affiliations or not. So many questions were twisting through Hermione's head that she did not notice Harry and Ron approach from behind.

"Are you coming?" Harry asked.

"Coming?" Hermione asked, startled by sudden appearance.

"Are you serious?" Harry answered to Hermione's blank expression. "Tryouts …" he explained further, "… for the Quidditch team."

"Right," Hermione said, finally clearing her head enough to comprehend what Harry was saying. "Let's move on, then."

"Are you feeling all right?" Harry asked, seemingly amused with Hermione's lack of focus.

"A bit dazed and confused this morning," Ron teased as the three of them headed out towards the pitch.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione dismissed.

After giving Ron a bit of a helping hand with his tryout, arguing with Harry about his continued use of the Half-Blood Prince's cribbed Potions book, and visiting Hagrid to offer their apologies for not taking Care of Magical Creatures, the trio headed back to the Great Hall for lunch. It was there that they were approached—or rather Harry and Hermione were approached—by Professor Slughorn and offered an invitation to a little dinner party that he was throwing that evening for some of the "up-and-comers" within the school. Harry was in detention, and therefore, would not be attending. As such, Hermione would be left to her own accord for this one. How dreadfully wonderful.

After lunch, Hermione broke away from Ron and Harry, her next class being Advanced Runes, a class neither Ron nor Harry had taken. As she walked down the hall towards the set of winding stone steps leading up to the Runes classroom, she was suddenly pulled aside into a darkened corridor that snaked away of the main hall.

"Killian?" she gasped as she leaned back against the corridor wall so as to remain within the security of the shadows. "What are you doing? Someone might see us!"

The truth was that Hermione did not really care at this point. She merely had to present the illusion that she was trying to be careful and responsible. In actuality, the rush that she felt as she looked up at Killian had overtaken her sense of accountability to a dangerous level. She had to be careful.

"I needed to see you," Killian whispered into Hermione's ear as he leaned into her against the wall of the corridor.

"I have to get to class," Hermione said with a playful smile, feeling his breath on her neck.

Killian grinned devilishly. "Skip it."

Hermione laughed as she tried to head back towards the main hall. "I can't skip it."

"Why not?" Killian asked, placing his hand against the wall to block Hermione's escape. "I'll skip mine."

"I know you would," Hermione teased as she placed her hand on Killian's cheek in a playfully condescending fashion. "That's because you're an idiot."

Killian laughed to himself as he took Hermione's hand from his face and held it within his own hand, gently rubbing his thumb across her palm. She wanted so badly to stay, but they both knew that this was only going to be a momentary passing.

"Meet me, then," Killian offered, his voice nearly a whisper in her ear once again. "Tonight, after dark."

"Where?" Hermione asked.

"Anywhere," Killian answered. "The other side of the bridge, along the shoreline."

"I don't know if I can," Hermione answered honestly. She felt as if there were eyes on them at all times.

"If I can find a way to ditch my entourage," Killian teased, referring to his Slytherin escorts, "I'm sure you can find a way out of the Gryffindor Tower."

Hermione looked up at Killian, then back towards the hall where droves of students were passing by. Biting her bottom lip, she took a deep breath, the scent of Killian's skin begging her react beyond her better judgement.

"I'll try," she finally agreed. "But no promises."

"None expected," Killian said with a grin.

Killian moved his arm, allowing Hermione to make her way back towards the main corridors. She had only gotten a few feet away, however, before he called after her.

"You didn't ask why I needed to see you."

"Okay," Hermione conceded with a smile. "Why did you need to see me?"

"No good reason at all," Killian answered, his grin widening. "I just did. But you're not one to leave something unquestioned. Being so, there is only one logical conclusion."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And what is that?"

"You needed to see me too," Killian concluded with a wink.

Hermione went to reply, pondering feigned insult or tossing a denial just to tease. However, she decided better of it. Let Killian have this one. After all, he was partially correct. While had not needed to see him, she certainly wanted to. This did not mean she would not turn her nose up in theatrical fashion before walking away. After all, she could not concede entirely.

. . .

The evening turned out to be a beautiful one. The sunset waned with a dazzling radiance from the blood lit sky. The slightest of breezes allowed for the cool autumn air to whistle through the leaves of the surrounding woods, offering a natural musical rhythm.

When night had fallen, Hermione carefully made her way down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor Tower. Everyone had already fallen asleep, so passing students in the halls was not going to be an issue. On the other hand, if she was out of bed, who was to say that others were not under the same assumption. Because of this, Hermione took great care as she made her way towards the castle exit. Much more care than she had taken the previous year when she had encountered Snape in her mad dash to the rain-soaked courtyard.

Aside from the wind, the night was very calm and clear. As Hermione crossed the covered bridge, she glanced along the shoreline, hoping to catch a glimpse of a shadow indicating that Killian had already arrived. When she reached the other side, she was startled as Killian snuck up from behind, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed his lips against the side of her neck before sliding them up just behind her ear.

"You're incorrigible," she said with a sigh as she closed her eyes, reaching back and bracing Killian's head against her neck.

"I've been called far worse," Killian whispered in Hermione's ear as he released her and Conjured a foxglove from the air. "By you, in fact," he added, presenting the flower to Hermione with a bow of his head.

Hermione put the flower to her nose and narrowed her eyes at Killian. They continued on until they were far enough from the castle so as to be able to speak freely without their voices carrying to any unwelcome listeners.

"So, how is Professor Snape taking to his new position?" Hermione asked as Killian tossed stones into the lake.

"Wonderfully," Killian said in jest. "You know, I actually believe I may have seen him crack the faintest of smiles. Frightening really. And Professor Slughorn seems to be doing a decent job replacing Professor Snape as the Potions master. Your friend Harry is doing exceptional this year, so I hear."

"That's because he's cheating," Hermione said with a hint of disdain.

"Cheating?" Killian asked, pausing mid-throw.

"He has a Potions book that's been altered," Hermione went on.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Killian asked, still puzzled.

"Some former student made notes and comments throughout the text," Hermione explained. "Harry's been using them to help him pass the class."

"He's still learning, then," Killian defended. "He's just found a better teacher, is all. Not exactly cheating."

Hermione knew Killian would take that approach. And to a certain point, she knew he was right. Perhaps it was more that Harry was getting an advantage that no one else was being offered. Perhaps it was that she struggled so hard to be the best at what she did, and Harry was now breezing along effortlessly. Perhaps it was that she just could not seem to find a balance in her dual life. Then again, a combination of all of the above was most likely the culprit.

"So," Hermione started, changing the subject, "I was invited to dinner with Professor Slughorn this evening."

Killian seemed amused by the revelation. "Part of the Slug Club, eh? Did you go?"

"I thought it would be impolite not to," Hermione admitted. "I was surprised not to see you there."

"Unlike Umbridge," Killian explained, "Professor Slughorn doesn't appear to fancy me much. Our personalities conflict a bit, I think. And even if I was invited, you don't really think I would attend such an event?"

"No," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "I guess not. It's just that he's planning to throw a Christmas party as well. He hasn't set the date yet or anything. Wants to be sure Harry can attend. We're allowed to bring a guest …"

Killian dropped his remaining stones into the water and walked over to Hermione, who was avoiding making eye contact with him as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He stood in front of her, tilting his head from side to side as Hermione continued to avoid looking directly at him.

"I would love to attend the Christmas party with you ..." he began.

"But we can't," Hermione finished. She did not know why she had even brought it up. Maybe she just needed it to be spoken out loud for her to believe it. Still, there was that faint light of hope that somehow it could have worked.

"It's just this year," Killian assured. "Then I'll be done with Hogwarts …"

"What about next year?" Hermione asked. "I'll still be here."

Killian smiled. "I'll shout it from the rooftops next year. Next year, I'll have gone out on my own. When you've graduated, I'll have established myself and—"

"And what if you find some, some … _woman_ out there while you're establishing yourself?" Hermione blurted before realizing how incredibly girlish she had just sounded.

Killian made every attempt to suppress his laugh, but failed rather miserably.

"Hermione," he assured after choking down his amusement, "I'm not interested in any _woman_ any more than I'm interested in whatever gaggle of silly schoolgirls that has you so concerned."

"So you have it all figured out, then?" Hermione asked rhetorically, shaking her head.

"Well, I haven't picked out colors or anything," Killian teased. "I rather thought you'd enjoy that."

Hermione smirked as she began to walk along the shoreline, leaving Killian behind. "I guess I can just ask Ron to go with me."

"Ron?" Killian asked, cocking his head in disbelief. "Ron Weasley?"

Hermione playfully took off running with Killian chasing behind until they reached a series of large boulders that doubled rather nicely as seating arrangements. Hermione sat atop one of the larger boulders while Killian leaned up against a smaller one, once again casting stones into the lake.

"I saw you got a letter this morning," Hermione said, figuring that the best way to bring up the subject was quick and clean, like tearing off a bandage.

"Did you now?" Killian asked as he glanced up at Hermione with mock suspicion. "Still spying on me, are you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Hermione dismissed. "I saw it from across the Hall this morning. I was anticipating a post myself and happened to notice."

"I'm sure," Killian conceded, although his tone was quite doubtful. "At any rate, it wasn't for me. It was a letter for Draco, from his father."

He was lying. How very clever of him. He knew she saw him get the letter this morning and, therefore, assumed she saw him leave with Draco. Now he was offering information he knew would upset Hermione so as to validate the lie he was telling. And Killian told the lie well. It was clear, articulate, and quite believable had he been talking to anyone else. Hermione, on the other hand, could see right through it. That much of an advantage, she had over Killian.

"You're passing letters to Draco from his father?" Hermione asked, pretending to be upset so as to play along with Killian's story. "Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater!"

"What would you have me do?" Killian asked. "Obviously, my father has told Lucius he could send correspondences through me. I'm rather certain Draco wouldn't be allowed to receive the letters personally." He grinned with a raised eyebrow. "And for mercy's sake, his father's in Azkaban. You can show a little compassion, can't you?"

"I don't know if I approve," Hermione chastised, narrowing her eyes at Killian.

"Really?" Killian grinned as he tossed off another stone. "I hadn't the notion."

He was so skilled with his lies. His body language did not fluctuate, his tone remained even, his eyes did not flinch. It was almost frightening how easy it was for him. Of course, he lied to Hermione often, so this was not a new phenomenon for her. The lies had never been anything serious. They were little lies, harmless ones. It was part of their game. Still, she could not help but be slightly impressed with this dark trait of his.

Deep down, Hermione was fairly certain Killian was aware she knew he was lying. Then again, that just added to their conflict, their counter. One was always trying to get the better of the other, almost daring the other to figure it out.

She also knew that if she really wanted to, she could get Killian to tell her the truth about the letters. For some reason, she decided that now was not the time. She had brought it out into the open, so Killian was aware that she knew. That was all that she needed right now. If it were something truly terrible, he would not play games with her. She knew that. So she decided to put the subject to rest.

The decision worked out well, actually, as at the moment Hermione had other things on her mind. She quietly slipped off of the boulder and leapt on the back of an unsuspecting Killian, causing them both to tumble into the grass along the shoreline. No, now was not the time for talking.


	4. Chapter 4 - Hogsmeade and the Beggar

_Here is another chapter. Not bad for a guy who had to cut his left arm off yesterday. Is he joking? Is he? ... Yes, but it was a serious contemplation. I argued with myself over it for hours. In the end I won. Or lost. Both I guess. That's the beauty of arguing with yourself._

 _But I digress ..._

 _Of Note … a portion of the dialogue was taken directly from JK Rowling's The Half-Blood Prince. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Four -_

 _Hogsmeade and the Beggar_

The brisk cool air of autumn soon gave way to mid-October snow. As with every year, this meant that it was time for eligible students to visit Hogsmeade and throw their Galleons about for simple pleasures, frivolous novelties, and unique sweets and candies. It was an annual excursion that released some of the tensions that had built up to that point in the term.

Hermione gathered her scarf and hat and headed to the carriages with Harry and Ron. She glanced about, looking to see if Killian had made his way out of the castle. He had told her that he was not quite feeling up to the trip, but she held out hope that he was simply being difficult. If nothing else, Hogsmeade would offer them a vast amount of opportunity to disappear within the crowds ... or leave the crowds entirely.

The afternoon they spent at The Attics of Plutus the previous year was still one her most fond of memories. When they sat together afterwards, her head on his shoulder, their fingers interlacing as she pondered whether any of it could be real. The moment he assured her in his own way that it was. She could still remember the feeling, the rush of warmth and comfort, the desire to be no other place in all existence when he told her she was more than any simple vanishing woman behind a curtain.

As her carriage left, however, Hermione's hopes for another such moment dwindled. Perhaps he _was_ sick. He had been looking a bit pale in the last few weeks. Hermione attributed it to his habit for late night studies—and not the ones that involved her.

He had been in the library for extended hours recently, sometimes reading through the dusty tomes until early morning. What he was so concerned about was beyond Hermione's understanding, as Killian's grades never seemed to be in danger of being considered even remotely unsatisfactory. However, over-preparing was one area where Hermione knew she had no room to argue.

As the image of Hogwarts faded in the distance, Hermione simply sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh as Harry and Ron discussed what shops they would haunt, what sweets they would ingest, and exactly how much of a pair of fools they planned to make of themselves. This would be good for Harry, Hermione thought. He needed to relieve some stress far more than anyone else she knew, including herself.

Unfortunately, as is most often the case, those who are under stress have a tendency to crack. And crack is exactly what Harry did when they encountered Mundungus Fletcher just outside the Three Broomsticks. Harry, apparently, had taken exception with Mundungus' attempt to pawn objects that he had stolen from Sirius' house, which was currently still doubling as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted as Harry pinned Mundungus against the outer wall of the Three Broomsticks by the throat.

"You stole that from Sirius' house!" Harry said in a tone of fury that Hermione had never heard escape Harry's lips. "That had the Black family crest on it!"

Mundungus gasped and choked, fumbling for words. It was apparent that he was trying, in vain, to come up with some form of acceptable excuse. Harry, however, did not appear to be in the listening mood as his choking grip increased with ferocity.

"What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place? Harry went on.

Mundungus continued to babble and struggle against Harry's grip.

"Give it to me!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, you mustn't!" Hermione pleaded as Mundungus began to turn blue.

Seeing that Ron had no intention of getting involved, Hermione reached for her wand. Before she was forced to use it, however, a loud bang filled the air and Harry's hands were thrown from Mundungus. Rolling through the snow, gasping for air, Mundungus gathered up his stolen wares and Disapparated with a crack. Harry tore into the area where Mundungus had previously stood, but it was too late. He was gone, leaving Harry to shout profanities at the sky.

Hermione saw Tonks, her bright and vibrant hair wet with snow, and assumed that she was the one who had released Mundungus from Harry's death grip. Tonks approached Harry and attempted to console him as he ranted on about Mundungus nicking all of Sirius' personal property. After a moment's banter, Tonks finally talked Harry into going inside the Three Broomsticks. There was nothing that could be done now, as she had pointed out. No need to be out in the cold.

Hermione shot Ron a livid glare as she followed Harry and Tonks inside.

"What'd ya have me do?" He shrugged defensively. "Harry had it covered."

Hermione decided she would not dignify Ron's remark with any sort of reply, instead following Harry and Tonks to one of the empty tables nearby while Harry continued to babble on. It was quite clear he was not going to let it go that easily. It was not surprising, though. Hermione would probably have felt the same way had she been in Harry's shoes.

"Just sit down and relax, Harry," Hermione suggested. "I'll get you something to drink."

With that, she made her way to Madam Rosmerta, who was in the process of being ogled by several overly hormonal teens. As she approached, however, Hermione caught a glimpse of someone passing by the side window to the Three Broomsticks. It was over in a fraction of a second, but the recognition was instantaneous.

"Killian?" she asked herself as she detoured to the side exit.

Hermione carefully opened the door and peered outside. The side of the Three Broomsticks opened into a rather secluded alleyway between several of the surrounding buildings. Hermione looked down and saw fresh footprints in the fallen snow. She followed the trail, making sure to erase hers as she went.

When she reached the end of the alleyway, she heard voices. She recognized Killian's voice right away, along with the tempered tone he would often use when trying to suppress his anger towards something. The second voice seemed familiar as well; Hermione just could not place it.

She slowly peered around the edge of the corner and saw Killian standing with, what appeared to be, a beggar in a tattered cloak with the hood concealing his face.

"His name is Dourlish," the beggar explained. "He can remove it for you. All you have to do is retrieve and deliver it."

"And why, exactly," Killian asked tersely, "am I retrieving this?"

"Better not to worry," the beggar answered. "Suffice to say that it's needed and necessary. You'll be notified when the time is right. Until then, just relax and sit tight. Everything is going as planned."

"Forgive me if I don't share in your enthusiasm," Killian scoffed.

"In time you will," the beggar assured. He reached for Hermione's ring, hanging from Killian's neck. "That's lovely," he remarked as he grabbed it and looked it over, massaging the silver with his fingers wrapped in filthy purple gloves. "You have yourself a girl, then?"

"If you intend on keeping that hand," Killian warned with a sharp and even tone, "then I suggest you remove it from my person."

"Watch your tongue, boy!" the beggar snapped, releasing the ring and waving his finger at Killian. "Currently, you still prove useful! But things change!"

"So they do," Killian conceded, unaffected by the beggar's aggressive tone. "You were once a Watcher. Look at you now."

Hermione could feel the tension between Killian and the beggar. It was painfully obvious that Killian detested the man. Why, then, would he agree to help him? And what was it exactly that he was agreeing to?

"So tell me," Killian continued. "Why is it that I'm being sent to retrieve it? Why not fetch it yourself? You're certainly free to travel, are you not? Or have they closed the gates to you?"

"We're all taking the necessary precautions," the beggar explained, gesturing to his tattered appearance. "Being inconspicuous is of the highest importance, things being how they are."

"Is that it?" Killian mocked. "Or is it that you're just as cowardly as the rest of your lot?"

Enraged, the beggar whipped out his wand and pointed it ferociously at Killian. Hermione nearly gasped, but was able to suppress it before any noise escaped her lips. Still, she reached for her wand. This situation was seemingly on the brink of volatility.

"Put that away, Yaxley," Killian said dismissively. "You'll embarrass yourself."

Yaxley paused for a moment. Even from the distance, Hermione could see a deviant grin appear under the tattered hood as he lowered his wand and readjusted himself. Killian however, simply stood there, stone-faced and unamused.

"You are full of acid and vinegar, aren't you, boy?" Yaxley laughed. "Your father was certainly right about you. Best be off, though. Wouldn't want to raise any suspicions. Besides," he added, "I have a package to deliver."

With a tip of his head, Yaxley turned and retreated down the alley, disappearing around the far corner. Killian stood there for a moment, looking down at the freshly fallen snow contemplatively before heading out of the alley from the direction he entered. As he passed Hermione, she pressed herself into the shadows of the corner between two buildings, waiting for several minutes to ensure that Killian was long on his way.

When she was sure the area was clear, Hermione cautiously peered up and down the alley before making her way back into the bustle of the Three Broomsticks. Her mind was a whirlwind as she approached Madam Rosmerta and ordered three Butterbeers. Drinks in hand and almost in a daze, she continued on to the table where Harry was still fuming about Mundungus.

. . .

"I agree that someone did it," Hermione said, exasperated. "But it wasn't Malfoy. He wasn't in Hogsmeade today."

"Yes, I heard you the first dozen times you pointed that out," Harry protested. "He's involved. Somehow he's involved."

Hermione knew it was pointless to argue, but that had never really stopped her before. Harry was so entirely certain that Draco had given Katie Bell the cursed necklace, there was nothing that would deter this line of thinking. They, along with Ron, had been going over it since they came across Katie and Leanne on the high road leading from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts earlier in the day. It was now several hours later, and Harry still refused to let it go, instead opting to walk it off in the halls. Hermione, thinking Harry might be in just the right mood to strangle someone again, decided to come along and help him talk it through. In actuality, Hermione had her own fears about the necklace and could use the walk herself.

As they wandered a rather aimless path through the school, they nearly collided with Killian rounding the corner adjacent to the library.

"Hey, Finn," Harry greeted with a mixture of warmth and distance.

"Hello, Potter, Hermione," Killian returned, glancing around cautiously.

"It's just us," Hermione assured Killian, who appeared incredibly distracted.

"You look awful," Harry observed. "You feeling all right?"

Killian's face was particularly pale, his eyes darker than normal, his cheeks hollowed. A lack of sleep would seem the logical culprit, but Hermione now doubted that was the sole culprit.

"A bit under the weather, I'm afraid," Killian explained with a weak smile.

"Is that why you didn't go to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

"Yes, actually," Killian answered calmly, his eyes meeting with Hermione's as if he were attempting to read her meaning.

Hermione was doing the same. Looking into his eyes. Not to see if he was lying, of course. Of that, she was already certain. It was more an attempt to find some sort of indication as to why he was lying. What he was hiding?

Harry, immediately feeling like a third wheel, coughed uncomfortably.

"You know," he suggested, "I think I'm going to head back to the common room. It's getting late. You two can—"

"Actually," Killian interrupted, "I'm off to the library."

"This late?" Harry asked. "They'll be sending you off in a few minutes."

"Professor Snape has given me permission," Killian explained. "I have a vast amount of studying to do."

"Really?" Hermione asked with mock surprise, looking for an opening to jump into the conversation. "I would think it odd for any professor to allow such a thing. Especially with what happened to Katie Bell earlier."

"What happened to Katie Bell?" Killian asked with genuine surprise.

"She was cursed," Hermione answered, gauging Killian's response.

"Cursed?" Killian asked, his eyes becoming more focused. Hermione could see that his mind was racing. "By whom?"

"Don't know," Harry answered, obviously not willing to share his Draco theory with a Slytherin. "She got a package at the Three Broomsticks. Had a cursed necklace inside. Accidentally touched it and … well, bad things."

"Is she going to be all right?" Killian asked, though he clearly was not taking any conscious part in the conversation at this point. His eyes had glazed over, lost in thought.

"Not sure yet," Harry admitted. "Let's hope so, though,"

"Yes, let's hope so," Killian agreed, shaking some clarity back into his head. "If you'll excuse me," he added with a tip of his head.

"Sure," Harry said. "I'll see you around, then."

With that, Killian walked around Hermione and Harry and continued towards the library. Hermione exchanged glances with Harry, contemplating. She then whirled around toward Killian.

"I'll come with you," she called after him. "I have studying I could do, as well. As long as Professor Snape has given permission."

Killian paused and turned around.

"I don't know that he's opened it up to all students," he said collectedly.

"Well, let him try and tell me that I can't use the library after hours after he's allowed one of his own House to do so," Hermione scoffed. "I'll go right to Professor Dumbledore with it."

Killian smirked, although this smirk was clearly covering his frustration. "I'm sure you would."

"Okay, then," Harry said to Hermione. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione said as she headed down the hall after Killian.

"And what, exactly, will you be studying?" Killian whispered to Hermione as they walked along. "Seeing that you have no books."

"The same thing you'll be studying, I'm sure," Hermione answered, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Killian glanced over his shoulder to see that Harry was gone and then pulled Hermione into one of the empty classrooms adjoining the hall. Once inside, he quietly closed the door and turned to Hermione, who was already glaring at him with her arms folded.

"All right, what's going on?" he asked.

"You tell me," Hermione retorted.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Killian came back.

"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed. "Studying? How stupid do you think I am? For God's sake, Killian, look at yourself! You look a fright! What's happening to you?"

"I fail to see why studying would seem so odd to—" Killian began to explain.

"I know you were in Hogsmeade today!" Hermione interrupted.

"What?" Killian choked, caught uncharacteristically off guard by Hermione's assertion.

"I saw you there," Hermione went on, her voice slightly calmer now that she had Killian's attention.

"Did you? And what did you see, exactly?" Killian demanded coldly, advancing on Hermione.

Hermione retreated a step before catching herself. _Don't be silly_ , she thought as she pushed aside the wave of fear that suddenly engulfed her. He would not hurt her. Whatever he was involved in, he would not hurt her. Why did she even find it necessary to convince herself of this? Almost as if he could read Hermione's thoughts, Killian immediately softened, staring at his hands, flexing them, calming himself.

"Hermione," he began, "you have to understand."

"Understand what?" Hermione asked. "Who was that man in Hogsmeade? What were you even doing there? Why did you lie to me?"

Hermione was emptying her head of all the questions that had plagued her since the scene in the alleyway behind the Three Broomsticks. She held out hope that there would be some simple explanation to make everything fall into place. Unfortunately, things never worked out that way.

"His name is Yaxley," Killian explained. "He's another … affiliate of my father's. I've been asked to retrieve something and deliver it."

"Retrieve what?" Hermione asked, feeling a bit more comfortable with the decreasing level of intensity in the room.

"I don't know," Killian admitted.

"What's in the letters?" Hermione went on. "You get them near daily now."

"Ever observant, aren't we?" Killian grinned, as his previous assertion of Hermione's spying was now confirmed.

Hermione crinkled her nose dismissively.

"In truth, I don't know," he admitted further. "The first one was from my father, explaining to me that I would be receiving more letters in the future, and that I was to pass them along to Draco."

"Killian," Hermione groaned. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Killian straightened up and grinned arrogantly. "Nothing I can't handle."

He never lacked confidence, that much was certain. Still, Hermione did not feel at all comfortable with the situation. It seemed to her that Killian was playing a very dangerous game. She was beginning to have serious doubts about Killian's father, as well. Her only consolation was that it appeared Killian held the same doubts. Still, the image of Killian and Yaxley in the alley was burned in Hermione's mind … _I have a package to deliver._

"Killian?" Hermione asked meekly. She had to ask. "Did you have anything to do with the necklace that—"

"No," Killian cut in abruptly, approaching Hermione and putting his hands on her cheeks, looking her dead in the eyes. "I would _never_."

"And Yaxley?" Hermione inquired further, locking eyes with Killian.

Killian had no answer to this question. Hermione could tell by the look in his eyes that he was not certain whether Yaxley was involved or not, but knew it was a possibility.

"We have to tell Professor Dumbledore," Hermione insisted. "We have to get help."

"No!" Killian said vehemently. "You cannot tell anyone about any of this. Promise me you won't."

"You can't be serious!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hermione, you have to trust me," Killian pleaded. "Everything is going to be fine. Just, please … please trust me."

As Hermione looked up at Killian, a cold shudder ran through her body. Everything did not seem as though it was going to be fine. On the contrary, everything seemed to be spinning out of control at a rather quickened pace. But she trusted him. Against all her instincts that screamed the contrary, she trusted him. That was not to say that she was not going to keep a very close eye on everything that transpired, but she would grant Killian's request for silence. For now, at least.

With a heavy sigh, she Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head against Killian's chest as he embraced her without yielding. When she opened her eyes, she saw her ring hanging from the thin chain around his neck. Grasping the silver circle, Hermione began scrubbing the surface with her thumb, washing away the taint Yaxley had placed upon it with his filthy fingers, gloved or not.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Killian said.

"You know her, too," Hermione whispered, clenching her eyes shut and wrapping her arms around Killian's waist. "I know you do. Friend or not, she's still your classmate."

"I know," Killian assured, kissing Hermione on the forehead as he ran his fingers through her long hair. "And she will be all right. Everything will be all right. I promise."

If only she shared in his confidence.


	5. Chapter 5 - WWW's Comp Confidence Parch

_The Trifecta ... Three days, three posts. Alas, this will mark the end of the streak though. This weekend is going to be a little busy, so ... yeah. Anyways, for all of those to whom this applies, I wish a very Merry Christmas to you and yours. For those of you for whom it does not apply, I wish you and yours the best of holidays for whatever holiday(s) you celebrate. For those of you who do not celebrate anything, have a nice Friday._

 _Of note (again) … a portion of the dialogue was taken directly from JK Rowling's The Half-Blood Prince ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Five -_

 _WWW's Complete Confidence Parchment_

The next several days were filled with the emotional peaks and valleys Hermione had grown accustomed to over the course of her years at Hogwarts. And as such, things played out as they always had before. When at the peaks, she did her best to keep her head down. When descended to the lowest of valleys, she fought to keep her chin held high. In recent years, however, Hermione had an escape; someone to keep her in balance, someone to be her counter. Of late, that escape seemed to have been lost.

It had been days since the last time Hermione had even seen Killian. Their last exchange being the awkward moment in the darkened classroom. She wished to be back there, as regardless of how it came to be or what happened before, it ended with her feeling his warmth as he held her close, promising her the world was not falling to pieces. No matter the amount of faith she did or did not have in this assurance, it made her feel special, wanted, like more than just a cog in a machine made to aid Harry in whatever endeavor he found himself.

And this was not to say that she did not love Harry. He was her best friend. She would give her life to help him, to fight against Lord Voldemort and his minions. And Harry made Hermione feel special in his own way. With Killian, though … It was different. He made her feel important. And it was not because of what she had to offer, it was simply because. And that undefinable feeling of being someone to another had been taken away from her for several uninterrupted days. Perhaps when she needed it more than ever.

But, as with anything, time does not stand still and wait for passengers to come aboard. It keeps moving along … For better or for worse.

Gryffindor defeated Slytherin in their annual battle on the Quidditch pitch. Among several Slytherins, Malfoy was noticeably absent from the pitch, which, in Harry's opinion, lent more credence to the theory that Draco was up to something devious.

Ron played wonderfully, a feat which Hermione attributed to Harry putting Felix Felicis in his pumpkin juice before the match. After the game was settled, Harry let it be known that he had not actually given Ron anything. It was simply a ruse, leading his unknowing friend to believe he had been received form of an edge. This revelation caused a bit of tension, as Ron then mocked Hermione for her failure to believe he could play as well as he had on his given skill alone.

The celebration in the Gryffindor common room that evening offered little joy for Hermione. She spent most of it upstairs in the girls' dormitory, lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering where Killian might be at the moment, wondering if he might be doing the same as she.

Overall, Hermione just did not feel much like celebrating. However, after a while, for Harry's sake alone, she decided to head down and join in the party. After all, Harry was the team captain and Hermione wanted to show her support.

Unfortunately, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, the first sight that captured her eyes was Ron and Lavender Brown standing against the far wall, their arms snaked around each other as if they were attempting some odd form of integrated yoga. Hermione's stomach immediately turned, and she darted out of Gryffindor tower without a word, finding solace in an empty classroom down the hall.

Finding her way to the front of the darkened classroom, Hermione sat on the teacher's desk and began Conjuring up tiny yellow birds. Soon, a small flock was fluttering about her head. Despite their incessant chirping, she paid them little attention. Hermione's mind was elsewhere at the moment. For some odd reason, she was burning with rage over what she had just witnessed.

Ron and Lavender. Why should that bother her? She and Ron were not even particularly speaking at the moment. Aside from the Quidditch issue, Ron was all up in a fuss because he believed she had become physical with Viktor Krum. Viktor Krum… Ron could be so oblivious at times.

Although the latter of the issues was not entirely Ron's fault. His behavior, perhaps. But the belief about her and Viktor was put in his head by Ginny. She was the one who listed off everyone and their snogging partners after Ron reacted a bit overbearingly when he and Harry found her and Dean stealing away in a corridor to be alone. And Hermione did go to the Yule Ball with Viktor. So shortly after the ball, when Hermione began stealing away herself, as well as being less than telling of her whereabouts, the obvious answer would be Viktor. If they only knew … The truth of Hermione's secret would be far more scandalous within the student body than being physical with Durmstrang's Champion.

Hermione had never really thought of it before, always being one to ignore the idle gossip that flowed through the school. Regardless of the absurdity, however, it appeared she had a bit of a reputation. Silly little bookworm, but willing to sneak off and snog with a boy. The mere thought of it brought a saddened smile to Hermione's face, as there was a sliver of truth to it. But not with Viktor. Someone else. Someone very specific. Someone who was not there at the moment, and it was not fair.

Still, Ron was having a wonderful time, and Hermione was sitting alone, sulking to herself. Why should she care? Ron could do whatever he wanted, as far as she was concerned. It was what he was best at anyway. Let him hang all over every girl in the school, making a fool of himself for everyone to see.

But no, it was not right. Ron was a rude, obnoxious, careless, and insensitive git. He should not be happy while she was miserable. He should not have his Lavender Brown if she could not have… Hermione shook the thought from her head. There was no point in wallowing. Killian would be the first to say so.

Sighing heavily, Hermione Conjured up another bird which immediately joined up with the others. She had seen Killian at the match. He was sitting with the Slytherins, paying little attention to anything that was actually occurring on the pitch. Hermione knew he was only there because Professor Snape had required all students within his House, with few exceptions, to attend the match. A show of unity. Still, she held out a slight bit of hope that he had actually attended so he could catch a glimpse of her from across the field. As the match came to an end, however, Hermione saw that Killian was already gone. It was a faint hope to begin with. It had been extinguished nonetheless.

"Hermione?" came Harry's cautious voice from the doorway to the classroom.

He had come looking for her. He must have noticed her leaving the common room. At least Harry had noticed she was upset. At least Harry had shown some form of concern. He was truly a great friend. Ron, on the other hand… Well, she had had about enough of Ron.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Hermione said as she Conjured yet another bird. There were now over a dozen of these tiny feathered creatures flitting about. "I was just practicing," she added with a sigh.

"Yeah ... they're—er—really good ..." Harry complimented.

Hermione allowed herself to smile at Harry's compliment. She knew he was trying. That, more than the compliment, made her feel a bit better.

Hermione sighed with disgust. "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

"Er ... does he?" Harry shrugged uncomfortably.

Hermione laughed. "Don't pretend you didn't see him. He wasn't exactly hiding it, was—"

She was interrupted as the door to the classroom burst open. She and Harry turned toward the door and saw Ron laughing and leading Lavender by the hand. Upon seeing Hermione and Harry, Ron stopped short. Swallowing hard, his expression dropped as Lavender stood beside him, biting her lip, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, before backing out of the room entirely. All at once, a fiery rage began to burn within Hermione once again.

"Oh," Ron blurted in a cracked voice, refusing to make eye contact with Hermione. "Hi Harry. Wondered where you'd gone off to."

A cold tension hung in the air as the three of them stood in silence for several moments. Harry looked as though he was going to make an attempt to say something several times, but closed his mouth before any words manifested. Finally, Hermione slipped off the desk and made her way to the door, her flock of tiny birds following suit.

"You mustn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she offered coldly as she narrowed her eyes at the ginger-haired source of her fury. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

With that, Hermione passed Ron and reached for the door. Ron's face expressed the look of one who had just escaped something horribly painful. Just as he heaved an enormous sigh of relief and smiled at Harry, however, Hermione whirled around, her wand at the ready. He was _not_ allowed to be happy.

" _Oppugno!_ " she commanded as her tiny army swarmed and attacked Ron with winged fury.

Hermione then exited the classroom with a slam, barely clearing the threshold before she burst into tears, hoping that neither Harry nor Ron had noticed. Ron would probably think that he was the reason she was crying. The thought angered Hermione further as she headed back into Gryffindor tower, her hands covering her face as she ran to her dorm.

She had intended to throw herself down on the bed, putting an end to the day and beginning a new one with a fresh start. This plan, however, was significantly altered as she saw that Crimna, the house-elf who served the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, was in the process of fixing Hermione's sheets.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized to the startled elf.

"N-n-no sorries," Crimna stammered excitedly as she fished through her ragged clothing. "Is waiting for student. Is to delivers letter in secrets," she added as she pulled out a folded piece of parchment and presented it to Hermione.

"A letter?" Hermione beamed immediately, a smile breaking across her face that directly contrasted the tears that had yet to dry.

Crimna nodded and smiled pleasingly as she held up the letter. Hermione took it and sat on the trunk at the end of her bed, opening the missive with anticipation. Although Crimna had been delivering letters back and forth between Hermione and Killian throughout the year, in recent weeks, correspondence had been a rarity at best.

 _Hermione,_

 _I missed you this afternoon. After seeing you at the Quidditch match, I waited by the covered bridge on the chance that I might catch you before you made your way back into school. Unfortunately, our paths failed to cross. I was hoping we might have a moment. It seems as though it's been forever since…_

Hermione wiped her eyes and laughed to herself. Killian _had_ gone to the match to see her. She had gone down to congratulate Harry after the victory, the delay causing her to miss Killian at the bridge. Somehow, the disappointment of missing an opportunity to meet was made far less painful with the knowledge that he had been looking for her.

Hermione felt silly and simple, but did not care. She smiled as she read on about all of the absolute nothingness Killian had stained to the parchment. In reality, the rest of the letter was just words, the only parts that mattered to Hermione having already been covered in the very first sentence.

When she finished the letter, Hermione went back and reread the beginning. As she did, she noticed a stamp in the top left corner— _WWW's Complete Confidence Parchment._ She thought for a moment as she stared at the brand mark. An interesting realization suddenly struck her.

"I need you to do something for me," she said to Crimna as the timid servant continued on with tidying the beds.

"If pleases student," Crimna acknowledged with a tip of her head.

"Tomorrow morning," Hermione went on, "can you meet me here?"

"Not problems to returns," Crimna assured. "For whats purpose?

"I need you to take me to Diagon Alley," Hermione explained as her eyes went back to the letter, leaving the perplexed house-elf to ponder quizzically at the request.

. . .

The next morning, true to her word, Crimna appeared before Hermione and Disapparated the two of them from the dorm. They Apparated moments later in the snowy streets of Diagon Alley. As soon as they arrived, Hermione instructed Crimna to head back to Hogwarts. The loyal house-elf had risked enough already by taking a student off school grounds without permission. As it was, Hermione only needed Crimna to get her there, after which she was sure she would be perfectly fine on her own.

After Crimna Disapparated, Hermione made her way through the crowded streets of nestled storefronts until she came to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. She entered the joke shop and was not surprised to see it was completely packed with individuals who wished to indulge themselves in " _Fantastically Frivolous Novelties for Modestly Minute Prices_ ," or so the advertisements said.

"I'm sure my eyes have gone wrong," came Fred's voice only seconds after Hermione entered. "Can't possibly be Hermione Granger, can it?"

Hermione smiled as she turned to greet one half of the Weasley twins. "Hello, Fred."

"Whatcha doing away from Hogwarts?" Fred asked. "Harry and Ron with you?"

"No, they're not," Hermione admitted. "And it's better if they didn't know I was here."

"Ahhh!" Fred smiled with a wink. "Secret's safe here. If these walls could talk… Well, that one can," he added, gesturing to the wall directly behind Hermione. "Rest of 'em are safe, though."

"Hey, Fred," George called as he emerged from a pack of customers. "A guy over here says he bought one of our Lucky Liars Jinxed Sugar Pops and his tongue swelled—Hermione?"

Fred laughed. "Snuck out of Hogwarts, rebel that she is."

"Rebel indeed," George agreed. "Next you'll be ditching study to play Flipping Fizzes in the courtyard."

"Ah, no," Hermione assured. "This is what you would call a… special circumstance. I have no intentions of making a practice of it."

"Special circumstance, eh?" Fred winked. "And what sort of special circumstance would bring you all the way out here?"

"Is there someplace we can talk?" Hermione asked, glancing around at the crowd of customers that continued to pack into the store.

"Of course, right this way," Fred said as he gestured to a doorway leading into the stockroom. "George?"

George smiled with a nod. "Right you are, Fred. Verity, mind the floor, will you?" he added with a gesture to the young blonde witch manning the counter, who merely rolled her eyes in response.

With that, the three of them left the noise of the sales floor for the seclusion of the stockroom. Once inside, Hermione pulled out the letter she had received from Killian and presented it to Fred and George. They took the letter and gave it a quick once-over.

"He misses you," Fred teased. "That's sweet, isn't it?"

"And Gryffindor beat Slytherin," George added. "Good news there. How's Ron doing?"

"Ron is an insufferable idiot," Hermione scoffed, preferring to assess his actions rather than his Quidditch skills.

"Same as always, then," the Weasley twins said in unison as Hermione snatched the letter from their hands.

"Look," she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep collective breath. "It's not the content of the letter, it's the parchment." She furthered her point by addressing the stamp in the corner.

"That's ours, all right," Fred said proudly. "Complete Confidence Parchment. Guaranteed unreadable by anyone other than the intended receiver."

"Only good for the first read, though," George added.

"After that, you're on your own," Fred added further. "Got the idea from the Trading Cards for our floating joke shop last year."

"Working on a new model where it disintegrates after reading," George said proudly.

"Still in the works, though," Fred clarified. "Currently, it's more of fiery burst than a disintegration. Doesn't seem to completely burns away either. Ends up with a bit of a singed quality."

"Bloody mess, but we'll get it," George added.

"Yes, it sounds wonderful," Hermione commended halfheartedly in an attempt to move on. "I received this letter last night."

Fred smiled. "Passing notes in school. Takes you back, eh, George?"

"Were we ever that young?" George mockingly mused.

"All jokes aside," Hermione persisted. "You advertised this in your catalogue earlier this month as one of your new specialty items."

"Yes," Fred agreed. "Huge seller."

"Can't keep them on the shelves," George added.

"Well, if it was a new item, as you advertised," Hermione went on. "How is it that Killian came into possession of it?"

Fred went to respond, but suddenly paused, his mouth still agape. Hermione figured this was probably because he did not have a quick-witted response handy. The twins glanced at each other, each waiting for the other to offer an explanation, instead settling for a simple shrug.

Fred grinned. "You always were frustratingly deductive, Hermione."

"Hated that about you," George teased.

"Has he been coming here?" Hermione asked.

"He… stops in… from time to time," Fred answered, his reluctance beyond evident.

"For anything in particular?" Hermione went on.

"A drink, a laugh," Fred answered.

"Or both," George added.

"That's all?" Hermione asked, disappointed that there was not some grand conspiracy afoot.

"Pretty much," Fred answered. "Says sometimes he just needs to get away from Hogwarts."

"Although he has seemed a bit stressed lately," George offered.

"About what?" Hermione asked, her heart aching a bit as envious images of Killian and the Weasley twins sitting about, talking and laughing, danced through her head.

"Well, if you don't know," Fred answered with a shrug, "he surely wouldn't have told us."

"Looks a bit sickly, too," George commented. "Told him as much last time he was here."

"When was that?" Hermione asked.

"About a week ago, give or take," Fred said. "Seems like a decent night's sleep would do him some good."

Hermione thought for a moment, absorbing the information that was being presented to her. It was not what she had hoped for. Of course, she was not entirely sure what she _had_ hoped for. She just knew that this was not it. She felt no better now than before she had arrived.

"And he hasn't said anything to you?" Hermione asked hopefully. "Anything of consequence, I mean?

"What are you looking for exactly?" Fred asked quizzically.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I just… Anything I guess."

"Sorry," Fred apologized. "Wish we had something to offer. Is everything all right with you?"

Hermione sighed and sat down on one of the boxes of merchandise that had yet to make it to the sales floor. Fred put his arm around Hermione's shoulder, offering whatever condolences he could, given that he had no idea what he was consoling her about. George suddenly scratched his head, thinking.

"Hey, Fred," he asked. "Who was that guy Finn was asking about?"

"Dourin?" Fred thought aloud. "Droolish? Drawlish?"

Hermione perked up. "Dourlish?"

"Yeah, that's it," George said with a snap. "Finn was here a few weeks back, asking if we could rustle up some information on this Dourlish character."

"Did you find anything?" Hermione asked on.

"Did we find anything?" Fred asked in return. "Does a Miniwig spit stardust when you tug on its ear feather?"

"Turns out he's some sort of retired labor worker," George explained. "Worked under the banner of the Unified Architects of Magical Construction."

"Off the job for a number of years," Fred explained. "Though I guess he still works an odd project or two. What Finn needed with him is beyond me. Didn't really go into it."

Hermione knew why Killian was interested in Dourlish. Well, she did not really know, but she knew he was going to be meeting with him. Why he was meeting with him was still a mystery to her. A retired labor worker? Unified Architects of Magical Construction?

"Why don't you just ask Finn yourself?" Fred asked.

"Still on speaking terms, aren't you?" George added with a wink.

"I can't," Hermione admitted. "Things… Things are a bit complicated."

"Aren't they always?" Fred grinned, elbowing George in the ribs.

"Teenagers," George teased, returning the elbow.

"You know," Fred suggested. "If you can't ask him, you could always just get the answers yourself."

"If only it were that simple…" Hermione began.

"Harry's still got the map, doesn't he?" Fred offered.

"And the cloak," George added.

"Seriously, Hermione," Fred teased. "For such a clever little witch, you can be quite dull sometimes."

Oddly enough, Hermione had not thought of that at all. How ridiculously simple. Right there in her own House. As she pondered this overly simplistic approach, a loud bang emanated from the sales floor. George got up and stuck his head out through the doorway to investigate.

"Looks like we have a situation with the Bubble Gum Flop Drops," he said, turning back to Fred and grimacing.

Hermione smiled as gasps and wheezes could be heard from the other side of the door. "You should probably take care of that."

"Why don't you stick around?" Fred asked as he got up to join George, who had left for the floor.

"I couldn't," Hermione answered humbly.

"Nonsense," Fred dismissed. "We close today at one. We'll have a late lunch, Apparate you just outside of Hogwarts in the early evening."

"We insist," George added, sticking his head back through the door. "Bit of a mess out here," he whispered to Fred before disappearing once again.

"All right," Hermione finally agreed as Fred left with a wink. It would actually be nice to hang out with Fred and George for a time. No one could lighten the room like they could.

Hermione got up and perused the various boxes of novelties strewn about the storage room. Verity burst through the door and began to look through one of the many shelves of overstock. Hermione kept silent, being neither familiar with the girl nor having anything in particular to say. Verity, however, was quite aware of Hermione, her eyes glancing in her direction several times as she scanned the shelves.

"He talks about you all the time," she finally said as she found and retrieved whatever it was she was looking for.

"What?" Hermione asked, caught unaware by Verity's comment.

"Killian," Verity clarified. "Every time he's here. Thought you'd like to know. Figured neither of those two gits would have the mind to mention it."

"I… um…" Hermione stammered, slightly embarrassed, suppressing a smile. "Thank you."

Verity offered an indifferent nod in return before heading back to the floor. Hermione leaned up against the counter alongside the storage room wall and opened Killian's letter. She had not come to Diagon Alley to hear that, but it certainly made her feel better than anything she had heard in quite a while. She was sure she was blushing as she reread the first few lines of the letter several times over… Just to pass the time, of course.


	6. Chapter 6 - Into the Snake Pit

_The year is quickly coming to an end, and this story ... is not. So there is literally no connection between the two. However, this is another chapter and another year will be starting in less than a week. So I guess one can really reach for it and make a connection there if they wished to do so. Aside from that ... Meh._

 _I digress ... Enjoy, if you will ..._

 _\- Chapter Five -_

 _Into the Snake Pit_

"I need them," Hermione insisted as Harry sat on the long couch across from the hearth in the Gryffindor common room, scratching his head quizzically.

"So if I have it right," Harry said, seeming to work it out in his head, "you want me to lend you the Marauder's Map and my Invisibility Cloak, and I'm not allowed to ask why?"

"Essentially, yes," Hermione answered. "It would be far simpler that way."

Harry grinned. "Simpler for whom, exactly?"

Hermione knew Harry would do this favor for her regardless of her unrealistic terms. In all actuality, Hermione would have been more than happy to share her plan. However, she feared that Harry would then insist on joining her, so as to continue his quest of proving the Draco Conspiracy Theory. No, it was better if Harry did not know.

After Harry delivered the requested items, Hermione spent the next several nights pouring over the map in her dorm. She watched the tiny labeled footprints as they danced across the aged parchment. Nothing of particular interest. Contrary to Hermione's expectation, Killian seemed to be spending his evenings in Slytherin House in place of sneaking around in the halls. Although, according to their labels, he did appear to be conversing with Draco quite a bit, or in the very least, haunting the same vicinities.

One morning, as Christmas holiday neared, Hermione sat at breakfast. As she made a halfhearted effort to partake in her table's conversations, the morning owls delivered the daily posts. As had become ritual for her, Hermione cast a casual glance towards the Slytherin table. An elegant gray owl swooped down and dropped a letter, which swayed through the air and landed before Killian. It was the first letter Killian had received in several days.

Killian nonchalantly picked up the letter, and without looking at it, handed it down the table to Draco. Draco took the letter, opened it, and glanced inside the envelope without removing the letter itself. He then closed the envelope, got up, and walked over to Killian, leaning in and handing the letter back to him. Even from the distance, Hermione could read Draco's lips.

 _It's not for me._

Killian looked up at Draco quizzically as he reclaimed the missive. With a grin, Draco patted Killian on the back and returned to his seat. Killian, as Draco had done, opened the envelope and glanced inside without removing the letter. He then closed the envelope, the same quizzical expression still etched on his face as he pocketed the missive within his robes and went on with his breakfast.

This was certainly an interesting start to the day. Hermione's curiosity was piqued beyond anything she could simply cast off. The remainder of the day, she found every opportunity she could reasonable justify to disappear for a moment and consult the Marauder's Map. She had made a habit of carrying it with her everywhere since Harry had agreed to lend it. One never knows when it will be useful.

Based solely on his actions at breakfast, Hermione surmised that Killian was not going to read the letter out in the open. He was going to wait until he had an opportunity to be alone. Morning classes, lunch, afternoon classes, nothing. Too many people around.

In the afternoon, Killian made his way to the library. Still too many people, although that did not stop Hermione from visiting the library under the assumed purpose of studying. She even made a point to speak to Killian as they passed one another in one of the rows of books. Little more than a casual hello and brief banter. Killian, true to his Slytherin skills, let on nothing.

Dinner came and went, leaving Hermione to realize there would be no chance left in the day in which she would be able to corner Killian about the mysterious letter. That night, as she sat in her dorm, staring at the Marauder's Map, watching Killian as he headed from the Great Hall towards the dungeons, a thought occurred to her. It was a desperate thought. An insane thought. A thought that, at the moment, offered the only solution to her current dilemma. As Killian's footsteps approached Slytherin House, Hermione knew she had little time to rationalize. It was crazy. She knew it. However, it was her last hope.

With a whirl, she rolled off her bed and fetched Harry's cloak, stored deep within her footlocker. With map in hand, she threw the cloak over herself, made her way out of Gryffindor Tower, and headed swiftly towards the dungeons. As she went, she saw that Killian had already entered his House. However, he was still in the common room, so there was time.

As Hermione made her way down the stone steps to the dungeons, she trailed a group of second years. In a matter of moments, the second years came to a blank stone wall. It had been repaired rather nicely since the gaping hole had been blown through it the previous year. One could not tell there had been any damage at all.

Standing in silence, Hermione watched as one of the second years stepped forward, cautiously speaking the password. As she did, the wall began to turn back on itself, similarly in fashion to the wall in the back of the Leaky Cauldron that led to Diagon Alley. Once the entrance was revealed, the Slytherins, along with Hermione, made their way inside before the wall closed back on itself.

Hermione entered the common room—a long, dungeon-esque area with cold stone walls decorated in silver and green. Opposite the entrance, she saw Killian, apparently absorbed in concentration as he contemplated his next move in a game of Wizard's Chess against Thomas, who was bouncing up and down in the chair alongside the chess table.

Quietly making her way across the room, Hermione pressed herself up against the stone wall. She was only a few feet behind Killian, hoping to avoid contact with any number of the Slytherins who were currently in attendance.

 _This is madness_ , she thought. What had she gotten herself into? Most intelligent people do not voluntarily throw themselves into the snake pit.

As time went by, Hermione could see that Killian was not paying much attention to the game. His mind was clearly elsewhere as Thomas continued to clear the board of Killian's chess pieces. Hermione was not fond enough of the game to really follow the strategies, yet even she could see that there was no logic in Killian's moves.

"Hey, Finn," Draco offered as he sat down in one of the hand carved mahogany chairs alongside the chess table. "Not faring so well," he added as he glanced at the board. "Losing to a ferret, are you?"

"I was not aware you were playing," Killian answered without looking up from the board.

"Hilarious," Draco mocked with a sneer as he popped his feet up on the opposite chair and leaned back.

For the first time, Hermione noticed that Killian was not the only one who looked tired and worn. Draco, even as he forced a smile and joked along with Killian, looked as though the color had been drained from his face. Perhaps there was something to Harry's suspicions after all. Something certainly was keeping Draco up at night.

"So what did your father have to say?" Draco asked as Thomas took Killian's rook.

"I haven't read the letter yet," Killian answered, still keeping his eyes on the table.

"You haven't read it yet?" Draco laughed. "First time in forever he sends you something, and you won't even read it? You're not still upset with what he said about your little Mudblood, are you?"

Killian glared at Draco. "I've asked you not to call her that."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry," Draco dismissed with a roll of his eyes. "Look, Killian, I get it. She's pretty and all, I'll give her that. I say go for it. I mean, your father's right. We all experiment a bit before we settle down. God knows I've had my share of Mudbl … non-purebloods."

"Well, as long as I have your approval then." Killian grinned sarcastically as he stood from the table, thoroughly beaten. "Good show, Thomas."

"You're off then?" Draco asked, dropping his feet to the floor and looking up at Killian hopefully. "I'd hoped we could sit and talk for a bit."

"I'm exhausted," Killian answered as he turned and headed towards the dorms. He was lying. Hermione could feel it. "Don't you have something you should be doing?" he added.

"Yeah, you're right," Draco conceded regretfully. "Hey," he called after Killian, who stopped and turned around. "About Hermione… I didn't mean… I'm…" he stopped himself, seemingly unsure how to finish.

"I know," Killian said with a nod and then left the common room.

Draco sat there for a moment before getting up with a sigh and heading out of Slytherin House. Hermione, still seething from Draco's comments, waited until she had a clear path before following Killian into the dorms. She knew the girls' dorms had a barrier that kept boys from entering, but had heard the boys' dorms had no such protection. As she entered the dorm and saw Killian sitting on his bed, letter in hand, she realized the rumor was true.

Holding her breath and hoping the beating of her heart was not as loud as it felt, Hermione settled in only a few feet from Killian. He sat on his bed staring at the envelope, letter still secured inside, as Thomas danced about, hopping in and out of Killian's lap. Almost regretfully, Killian slowly opened the envelope and removed the folded parchment from inside. After a moment's pause, he began to read.

Hermione tried to make her way around the back so as to read the message over Killian's shoulder. Her view, however, was blocked by a large armoire along the wall, so all she could get was the mere glimpse of a word or two.

After a minute or so, Killian appeared to have finished reading. He also appeared to be less than pleased as he crumbled the parchment in his fist and tossed on the bed before turning his unfocused gaze upon the floor. Before long, Killian's concentration, or lack thereof, was broken as Blaise entered the dorm.

"Hey, Finn," he said cautiously as he stood in the doorway.

Killian looked up, but did not respond.

"Professor Snape sent me for you," Blaise went on. "He's in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Says he wants to see you."

Killian forced a smile. "Serving detention, were you?"

"Missed the last assignment," Blaise conceded with a laugh. "Two scrolls on the origins of rancid ricenbacks. Bloody boring. Couldn't get through it."

"Well, hopefully you never find yourself cornered by one then," Killian mused.

"If my understanding of rancid ricenbacks is correct," Blaise said with a smile, "I don't think a couple of scrolls on their origins is going to do much to protect me."

"No," Killian agreed. "I don't suppose they would."

Killian turned to retrieve the letter he had tossed aside, only to find it missing from the bed. Hermione began to severely second-guess her idea of grabbing the crumpled parchment while Killian was distracted by Blaise's presence. She watched as Killian rummaged through the covers before dropping down to the floor to check under the bed. All the while, Hermione's heart was racing, hoping that Killian would not make his way over to her.

"Lose something?" Blaise asked as he watched Killian glance about.

Killian stood and sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Nothing important."

"You all right?" Blaise asked with a sudden tone of concern.

"Fine," Killian answered mechanically as he headed towards the door.

As Killian approached, Blaise raised his arm across the doorway, preventing Killian from leaving. Killian seemed to be taken aback by Blaise's actions, cocking his head slightly and taking a step back.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Finn?" Blaise asked, his concern now far more evident.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Killian answered coolly.

"Nor do I," Blaise admitted. "Nor does anyone else. But they can all see it. Something's going on. For the love of God, whatever it is, let it go. It's killing you."

"I appreciate your concern," Killian said as he placed his hand on Blaise's shoulder. "But I did not ask for your counsel."

"No," Blaise conceded, shaking his head. "No, you didn't. Thought I'd offer it anyway."

With that, Blaise lowered his arm and Killian left. Blaise watched Killian for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh and exiting the dorm as Hermione tried to organize her thoughts in her head. What she had just witnessed threw off all of her perceptions of what transpired within the confines of the Slytherin House. While they had little time for anyone outside their House, it was apparent that they had a significant amount of camaraderie within. An actual concern for each other's wellbeing. This reality seemed awkwardly odd for Hermione. Sympathetic Slytherins? What next?

Hermione brushed of her recent reality check and quietly uncrumpled the letter she had confiscated from the bed. It was from Killian's father. She felt almost guilty for reading it, but not guilty enough to stop.

 _Killian,_

 _I hear that you are doing well this term, not that it is the least bit surprising to your mother nor myself. From what has been reported by Yaxley and the others, you are also doing very well in the tasks of which you have been charged. It is in regards to these that I am writing this letter._

 _I have been informed that you are to meet with Dourlish in the Raturian Square the night after Hogwarts returns from Christmas Holiday. I regret that we will not be seeing you during this time, but I respect your decision to remain at school and continue your work. I know this has been difficult for you, but I can assure you that, in time, you will see that everything is for the best. Troubled times lie ahead. But when the smoke clears, the strong will remain standing, as is always the case. And you must remember that it is the strong who get what they want and whom they want. I am certain you understand this._

 _As I close this letter, I want you to know that your mother and I are very proud of everything you have done thus far, and we have full faith in your ability to see this through to the end._

 _Kindest Regards,_

 _Your Father_

As Hermione finished the letter and replaced it on the bed, a horrible feeling overtook her. What had Killian gotten himself into? And why? She had to do something. She had to tell someone. But she had given her word. Killian had asked Hermione to trust him. She did trust him, did she not? Her mind would not allow for that decision at the moment.

Carefully and quietly, Hermione made her way out of the dorm, through the common room, and across to the exit from Slytherin House. She waited patiently, pressed up against the wall for someone to come or go so she could make her escape. The common room was still a bustle, so the odds were fairly good that eventually someone would access the entrance.

As it turned out, Hermione remained pressed against the wall for quite a long time, cursing her lack of planning on this little endeavor of hers. Just as she felt her legs were going to give way from being locked in place against for such a long period of time, she heard the familiar sound of stones folding back on themselves.

As Hermione moved into the doorway that exited Slytherin House, she froze, seeing that it was Killian who had accessed the doorway on his way back into the common room. In a severe emotional overload, Hermione nearly reached out and grabbed him. She wanted to touch him, as if somehow that was going to make things right. Hermione's restraint, however, won out in the end as she watched Killian walk past and join the other Slytherins in the common room as she slipped out through the doorway.

Once back in the safety of her own dorm, Hermione lay on her bed staring at the canopy overhead. A thousand images passed through her mind. Most of them involved Killian doing horrible things. In the end, she forced those thoughts aside. She had made her decision. She was not going to say anything. She had given her word on that. That being said, she was also no longer going to simply sit back and wait for things to sort themselves out. Fred and George were right. Hermione wanted answers and she was going to get them.


	7. Chapter 7 - A Smarmy Failure

_Happy New Year to all! Out with the old, in with the not so old, etcetera ad nauseum ... So it's not quite New Years at Hogwarts. It's actually not even_ _Christmas just yet. But it's getting there. It took me a little while longer to get this post up due to ... things ... But it is up now. So without further delay, I hope you enjoy the first chapter posted in 2017!_

 _\- Chapter Seven -_

 _A Smarmy Failure_

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stepped off the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross, ready to begin their holiday. The ride had been uncomfortable at best. Although Hermione attempted to join Harry and Ron in their compartment, the tension in the air was too thick to bear. Thus, Hermione spent a great deal of the trip either wandering aimlessly or looking for compartments where the occupying students were sleeping. She did not particularly feel like engaging in conversation.

Now that they had arrived in London, however, Hermione thought it best to exit the train together. No need for any parents to see that their little trio was fractured.

 _Little trio_ , Hermione thought, shaking her head while suppressing a smile as she stepped off the train.

How much she had hated it when Killian referred to things as _little_. Particularly when he would use it to describe something of interest to her. She knew he did it simply to bait her, but it aggravated her to no end. Now that she found herself using the term in the same way, Hermione could not help but be amused. At least, slightly. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her.

Several members of the Order were at the platform ready to greet them, waiting upon Harry's arrival to ensure he reached the Burrow safely. Dangerous times, as Professor Moody would often reiterate. Cannot take any chances.

After the customary greetings and brief catching up, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were ready to leave. Moody was already seething that they had wasted as much time as they had. However, Hermione's parents had yet to arrive. With Moody looking as though his mystical eye was ready to burst from his head, the veins in his forehead throbbing and he went on and on about being vulnerable and visible, Hermione assured them she would be all right on her own. She was safe at King's Cross and her parents would arrive at any moment. Regardless, Tonks decided to stay behind.

"Are your parents often late?" Tonks asked a good while after the others had left.

"They're dentists," Hermione answered with a grin. "The expectation is their patients be on time. They, however, can often run quite a bit behind schedule."

Several more minutes passed as the two of them bantered back and forth. Hermione had forgotten how much fun it was to share the company of Tonks. She was a strong, vibrant, confident woman. There were so many aspects of her character Hermione aspired to possess. Of course, there were also several of which she could lack and still feel quite fulfilled.

"Thank goodness you're still here," came a familiar voice near the hissing train.

Hermione and Tonks turned to see Professor McGonagall striding towards them with letter in hand.

"What's the matter?" Tonks asked.

"Oh, nothing dear," McGonagall assured. "I just received a letter from Miss Granger's parents. It appears they were called away for a conference and will not be home for the holidays." She handed the letter to Hermione, who took it and glanced over the script. "The letter only just arrived. It must have been delayed due to the amount of posts flooding the owlery this time of year."

"A conference?" Tonks asked, her face twisted in confusion. "At Christmas? Who is all bloody hell goes to a conference during the holidays?"

"It's not really a conference, per se," Hermione explained, her shoulders dropping, her eyes on the floor. "It's more of a holiday get-together for dentists."

"A what?" Tonks asked on, more perplexed than before.

"It happens every year," Hermione explained. "My parents have always been able to make excuses for not partaking. Apparently they could not get out of it this year."

Tonks continued to find no logic or reason in any of it. "Well if it's just a get-together, why can't you go too?"

"I could," Hermione answered. "But I made it very clear to them that if they ever went, I wanted no part of it. The last thing I want over Christmas is to be surrounded by people talking about bicuspids and canines. They understand," she punctuated with a laugh.

"I'm sorry, child," McGonagall said, placing her hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"It's all right, Professor," Hermione said.

"Well, hang on," Tonks offered. "The others have only just left. If we hurry, we can catch them. You can spend the holidays at the Burrow. I'm sure they'll have you."

Hermione thought for a moment. Already hit with the realization she would not be spending the holidays with her parents, she now faced the very real possibility of being with Harry and the Weasleys for an extended period of time. In recent years, this would have been an exciting proposition, even in light of the reasoning behind it. Given recent events, however, Hermione thought differently.

"If it's all the same," she said, attempting as best she could to hide her interwoven emotions of disappointment and hope, "I'd like to stay at Hogwarts."

"And why would you want to do that, dear?" McGonagall asked.

"With everything that's happened," Hermione explained, "maybe I could have a holiday from all of it. Spend some time away. Read some books. Think. Breath."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, Tonks folded her arms, and the two of the glanced back and forth between each other and Hermione.

"I think your friends would be upset to miss you," Tonks pointed out.

"Do they have to know?" Hermione asked.

Tonk rolled her head back, shifting from one foot to the other. She then looked at Hermione, cocking her head and making a face that resembled some blend of a scowl and grin.

"Makes sense, actually," she finally conceded. "World being as it is, safest place to be is Hogwarts. But you wouldn't know, because you're off somewhere with you parents," she punctuated with a bump to the shoulder and a wink.

"It's settled then," McGonagall said, putting her arm around Hermione and pulling her close to her side. "However, as I have no intention of taking a train … Goodbye, Nymphadora."

Tonks' scowl returned. "Don't call me—"

But her words were cut off as Hermione felt a familiar tugging force as she and Professor McGonagall Disapparated from King's Cross and Apparated a moment later on High Street in Hogsmeade. It was not quite like the time she had travelled with Killian in this manner, no sensation of being pressed through water, but familiar just the same.

"Now, Miss Granger …" Professor McGonagall said simply as she began up the path towards the school, "… off we go."

With a sigh and a smile, Hermione followed the Head of Gryffindor House back up to the castle, a little lighter in her step than she had been on the way down.

Shortly after, Hermione was back in her room, unpacking her bag and putting things away. As she did, she thought about the sudden turn of events. She thought about the previous year, when she and Killian sneaked away to find time together on a frozen pond a short stroll from Grimmauld Place. That moment, frozen in time, as the afternoon transitioned to evening under the fresh falling snow was etched in her memory like a painting lush with color and detail, every brushstroke a masterpiece in its own right. Now, here she was, a year later. And somewhere within the surrounding walls, Killian was there, as well.

In the early evening, Hermione found herself wandering the halls. She convinced herself it was merely to be out of the common room, where she had spent most of the early afternoon. Why she had done so, she could not be certain. The surroundings, empty of the bustle of everyday students, seemed so peaceful.

She had spent the holidays at Hogwarts before, but never without Harry and Ron. So this time was quite different. For the immediate future, there would be no interruptions of Draco conspiracies, no annoyingly cutesy Lavender Brown wrapped around Ron, no gossip about Victor Krum or Cormac McLaggen, and no talk about any Chosen One. Just long, hallowed, empty quiet.

She had skipped lunch entirely, the formality of things having fallen away with the majority of the students being home with their families this year. Contrary to Tonks' assertion that Hogwarts was the safest place to be, it appeared, based entirely on the lack of students within the school at the moment, most parents disagreed. The few students who remained followed a lenient schedule for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even being allowed to take their meals to their common rooms if they so wished.

Now hungry, however, Hermione ventured to the Great Hall to find that most of the students had joined together at one of the center tables, forgoing house affiliation. There were of course, those who preferred their own house, but they were the minority. Even with them mingled, all four of the tables seemed bare.

Glancing around the Great Hall, Hermione saw that Killian was nowhere to be seen.

 _Of course_ , she thought, her hunger pangs suddenly fading away. _Stupid_. _Absolutely stupid_.

No longer interested in eating, Hermione decided to head back to Gryffindor Tower. Why had she spend the entire afternoon locked away in her common room? Why had she not looked for him right away? Why had she not tried to send him word that she was there? Doubt perhaps. Fear that Killian would not be happy to see her. He was, no doubt, hiding away somewhere, avoiding others as he so often does. Perhaps he wished for the solitude and she would be infringing upon it.

Regardless, searching for him at this hour would be a fool's errand. Certainly by now he was locked away beyond the Slytherin wall in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

As she kept along towards her destination, Hermione's eyes were on the stone floor, watching it as it passed beneath her feet with each methodical step. Perhaps Crimna would be in the girls' dormitory turning down the sheets for the night. Perhaps she could get a message to Killian. Perhaps then he would know—

As Hermione turned the corner, she felt two hand cup her cheeks as lips press to hers in a whirlwind of motion and sensations. She could hear his breath as he tasted her, the familiar scent of his skin bringing about a sense of comfort and desire. Upon instinct, she closed her eyes, her hands guiding his down to her waist as they leaned back into the shadows.

"You knew I was here?" Hermione asked.

"Only just," Killian admitted. "I hadn't left my common room today. Only did so now because I was hungry." He ran his finger across Hermione's forehead, clearing her hair from her eyes. "I was heading back there when I saw you entering the Great Hall. So I waited here."

"Why?"

"I assumed you would be looking for me," he said with playful arrogance. "When you realized I was not there, you would leave."

"I could have just been looking for food," Hermione teased.

"Yet, you left with none," Killian pointed out.

"I could have gone in another direction."

"This is the most direct path back to your tower," Killian went on. "And, as luck would have it, it happens to be under the mistletoe," he added, looking upwards.

Hermione looked up as well and saw a bundle of leaves and berries strung together within braided ribbons that draped the corridor. As she attempted to respond to Killian's comment, he stole her breath once again.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his arms tightening as his lips slid to Hermione's ear. "And you're hungry," he went on with a laugh, as Hermione's stomach unconsciously grumbled. He then grasped Hermione by the hand and began down the corridor.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked. "The Great Hall is the other way."

Killian snagged a satchel from the floor near them and slung it over his shoulder. "I've already filled up," he explained, opening the satchel and removing an apple. "I admit I'd believed at the time I was hoarding for myself alone. But I imagine we can share. You don't eat much, do you?" he concluded with a grin, handing the apple to Hermione.

Together they slipped through the halls of Hogwarts, finding a secluded area to settle in near the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. Hermione sat down as Killian looked up and addressed the stone carving.

"Let us know if anyone comes along, will you?"

Laughing and tugging at Killian's pant leg, Hermione made herself comfortable. Killian found his place beside her and did the same. He then opened his satchel and removed several bits of fruits, vegetables, and baked goods. He even managed to swipe a sealed carafe of pumpkin juice. After setting the spread, Hermione and Killian relaxed under the watchful eye of Gregory's frozen stare.

"This is almost surreal," Hermione said, lying on her back and resting her head on Killian's leg as she stared into the vaulted ceiling while Killian gently stoked her hair.

"Only almost?" Killian asked.

"We're in the middle of a hallway in Hogwarts," Hermione explained. "Right out in the open. Not hiding, not whispering, not rushing away."

"Well," Killian counted, "we are relatively alone in the school at the moment. Most of the parents didn't want their children staying here during the holidays. Not safe and all of that."

Killian's observation was in direct contrast to Tonks' assurance that Hogwarts was the safest place to be with everything that was occurring in the Wizarding world. Two different opinions; one from a confident, loyal member of the Order, the other from frightened parents whose faith has been tested over the previous years.

"But we're here," Hermione said. "I feel safe."

"That's because you're foolish," Killian teased.

"You're not going to let me have this moment, are you?" Hermione snipped, playfully slapping at Killian's leg with the back of her hand.

Killian caught her hand within his, grasped it, and began to massage her palm with his thumb. "And make it that easy for you?" he asked in return. "Never."

"Is it wrong to dream?" Hermione asked musingly. "Pretend this is just a normal day at school, no one is staring, no one cares. Pretend as if there is nothing wrong with it at all."

"There is nothing wrong with it," Killian assured. "There is something wrong with the world, but I promise you, there is nothing wrong with us." He ran his fingers across Hermione's cheek, directing her eyes towards him. "And you should feel safe … You are safe … Whenever you're with me. Just as I'm safe when I'm with you. As for a normal day at school," he added with a grin, "I'm fairly certain they would be staring regardless. After all, we're sitting on the floor in the middle of a hall when we should be in class. That would, no doubt, draw some eyes."

"And we nicked food from the Great Hall," Hermione added.

"We?" Killian asked, his eyebrow raised. "Who is we? I don't recall any help in that."

Hermione laughed and rolled off Killian's leg, reaching for his satchel.

"Speaking of," she said as she flipped it open and began rummaging through its contents. "What else do you have in here?"

Grasping and disregarding several variations of nourishment, Hermione found a small, leather bound book. Larger than a journal, but significantly smaller than the tomes shelved away within Hogwarts' vast library.

"What is this?" she asked, simultaneously opening the book and flipping through the pages. "Holiday reading?"

At first, Killian seemed as though he was going to reach for the book, but did not. Instead, he rested back against the statue of Gregory, folding his hands behind his head. "Something like that," he answered.

"The Genimus Serpens Ensis," Hermione said, reading the cover aloud before returning to her skimming. "Council of Elders … brother dragons, Tyne and Renfyre," she read on, squinting her eyes as she struggled with the words. "The Bon … Bondya dor … Rydre … Am I even saying that right?"

"Bon-dee-ah dor Rye-der," Killian pronounced with a grin, gently drumming his head against the smooth stone behind him as he stared at the ceiling. "But close."

"What is all of this?" Hermione asked on. "Reads like history, but …" she paused as she came to a particular page. "Hang on, is this Volda—"

"Yes," Killian interjected, taking the book from Hermione and flipping through the pages himself. "My sister sent it. Thought I would find it an interesting read."

"Aren't these children's stories?" Hermione teased, referring to both her own limited knowledge as well as Madame Pince's description of the Voldavia tales.

"Some would say," Killian said.

"And why would your sister believe you interested in such a genre?" Hermione teased.

"Perhaps she believes me to be immature," Killian answered. He then sat forward and returned his gaze to her. "Hermione, there's something I need—"

"Are students meant to be wandering all of the halls?" came a voice from further down the corridor.

Hermione and Killian turned to see a man descending a nearby staircase. He was young, with dark hair and a long black overcoat draped over his arm. He wore round glasses, giving him a very studious and proper appearance, and carried a bowler cap in one hand and a walking stick in the other. Most noticeable on his person, however, was his dark purple gloves.

"I understand the school is on holiday," the man continued as he strode towards them. "Still, I imagine there would be some form of order and control."

"Like strangers wandering the school?" Hermione pointed out as she and Killian got to their feet.

"Very true," the man agreed. He then turned to Killian. "Would you like to introduce us?"

Killian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hermione, this is Master Liam Buckley," he said with reluctance.

"Mr. Buckley," Liam corrected with a tip of his head.

"Of course," Killian conceded. "The one straggling behind is _Miss_ Aeris Baethen."

"I'm hardly straggling," came the voice of a young woman with long burgundy hair pulled back in a tight braid. "I'm merely taking my time."

Aeris soon joined Liam's side and greeted Hermione more personally. She was vibrant, confident, and beautiful, wearing an ebony cloak and, like Liam, deep purple gloves that ran nearly the full length of her arm. Hermione also noticed she was wearing a delicate silver broach intricately detailed in the shape of a curved leaf inlaid with a violet crystal. At that moment Hermione realized Liam was wearing a similar lapel pin, although the crystal contained within was a deep blue.

"Killian," Aeris greeted with a smile much like the one Killian wore when being cordial with someone he would rather be less than. "You look well."

"Are you affiliated with Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, seeing that although Killian appeared to know these two individuals, he did not seem particularly interested in their presence.

"No," Liam clarified. "We are affiliated with Killian. His father, to be more exact. Happened to be passing by and decided to see in on him." He looked to the book in Killian's hand. "May I?" he asked as he reached out.

Killian handed the book to Liam, who then thumbed through several pages.

"Not the type of literature one would expect within Hogwarts," Aeris said.

"My sister sent it to me," Killian explained. "To help pass the time over holiday."

"Have you finished?" Liam asked.

"Yes, actually," Killian answered. His tone was polite and casual, but Hermione could see beyond the simple niceties.

"Perhaps we can return it then," Liam offered. "We'll be seeing your sister later in the week."

"Certainly," Killian agreed. "You would be doing me a favor."

"Perfect …" Liam put the book within his coat and turned to Hermione. "It was a pleasure," he said, tipping his head again before returning his attention to Killian. "Mind yourself, would you please?"

"Of course," Killian answered, his eyes narrowing, then tension in his jaw evident.

Liam turned and began down the hall. Before following, Aeris looked to Hermione.

"Gryffindor?" she asked, admiring the house badge on her sweater.

"Yes," Hermione answered.

Aeris glanced back towards Killian, then approached Hermione and leaned in with a smile.

"Keep him out of trouble," she whispered.

"Always," Hermione assured.

"Good," Aeris said simply, then turned and joined her counterpart as he walked to the stairs leading down to the main foyer, their footsteps growing fainted with each passing stride.

When the corridor was silent once again, Hermione turned to Killian, who was gathering up the remainder of their food and putting back within his satchel.

"Friends of you father?" she asked.

"Politics and proper social mingling," Killian answered dismissively without even looking up. Each item he stuffed in his satchel was done so with more force than the previous.

Hermione walked over to Killian and placed her hand on his back. He paused, his shoulders slouching as he took a thoughtful breath. She then walked around her Slytherin and looked up at frustrated expression.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Of course," Killian answered, forcing a grin. "Do I not appear so?"

"Well," Hermione began cautiously, "… you just crushed the biscuits in your bag."

Dropping his shoulders further, Killian lowered his head.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing is wrong," Killian answered.

"Does this have anything to do with—"

"No," Killian assured before Hermione could even complete her thought. "This has nothing to do with anything happening here. Not Katie Bell, not Yaxley …"

"Then what is it?" Hermione pressed on, now grasping at Killian's shirt, adjusting the buttons and straightening the collar; an easy excuse for physical contact. "Whatever it is, you can tell me," she continued, he hands now resting on Killian's chest. "You know that, right?"

Killian grasped Hermione's hands, pressing them together within his own. "I do," he said. "But … I can't."

A thousand thoughts went through Hermione's mind in a fraction of second. Images of scenes in movies and books where one member or the other in a conversation storms off in anger because they did not have their question answered or the request acquiesced. The forced drama, the manufactured crisis created by nothing more than lazy writing or some belief that the human ego was so weak, so fragile that something as simple as hearing _I can't tell you_ would be enough to send one over the edge.

Hermione always found those characters to be ridiculous. She believed, were she in their place, she would react differently. When faced with the reality of it, however, it was quite different. In part, she was correct. She did not get angry, she did not storm off. As she had believed, there was more to her and Killian than some dramatic literary cliché. Still, the words stung. So perhaps her ego was not as strong as she had imagined.

In that moment, when Hermione proved to herself that she was better than any hackneyed fictional character, she heard the hesitation in Killian's voice, saw the subtle differences in stature, and felt the sliver of pain and frustration buried behind his arrogant grin. More than that, she trusted him. Plain and simple. While her curiosity begged for more, her heart knew it was not needed.

"Will you ever tell me?" she asked as she placed a gentle hand to Killian's cheek.

Killian slid his hand over Hermione's. "Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I promise, one day, I will tell you everything."

Without a word, Hermione stood up on her toes, kissing Killian gently for as long as she could hold her breath and keep her balance. A simple kiss, just enough to feel the sensation of his lips against her own. It was significantly less than their level of physical behavior, but he pursued nothing more than what Hermione offered, simply placing his free hand on her waist, squeezing just enough to let her know it was there. He knew it was more than just a simple kiss. It was Hermione's promise that when _one day_ came, she would be there.

Her calves burning and her balance failing, Hermione dropped down to her heels once again. Wearing an expression Killian reserved only for her, Hermione's Slytherin slung his satchel over his shoulder, his hand still in hers.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Hermione said in return, smiling and feeling almost silly for the exchange

"So where shall we be off to?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "Somewhere else we're not supposed to be."

"Very well," Killian agreed with a laugh. "Lead on."

As they gathered up the remainder of their things, Killian made a point to address the statue of Gregory the Smarmy.

"You're fired, by the way," he poignantly chastised the granite effigy as Hermione joined him, placing her head on his shoulder. "Terrible lookout."

"Agreed," Hermione concurred playfully. "Now, come on," she went on, taking Killian by the hand and leading him off into the darkness of the corridor.


	8. Chapter 8 - A Christmas Quandary

_Happy to have another post up and ... well ... posted. Alas, however, I was reading through some previous posts and, ugh, I am terrible at editing. I used to have such a wonderful editor. Sadly, that was a long time ago. There are times when I miss her greatly, least of all because of her editing prowess. And now, my posts go up and several weeks later I reread a portion of something only to see typo after typo after typo. So, if you will excuse me, while you are reading this chapter, I will be slamming my fingers in a door. Venting rage and all of that._

 _Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Eight -_

 _A Christmas Quandary_

The next few days were magical. Not the magic that Hermione had experienced since she was accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It more closely resembled the magic one reads in poems, sees in paintings, hears in lyrics of a song that reaches one's soul. The magic that, as ironic as it seemed, Hermione did not believe existed.

Walking the halls with relative freedom, spending hours together talking about anything that came to mind one moment and listening to the wondrous sounds of silence the next, it was a carefree world Hermione and Killian had scarcely experienced within the confines of school. It matter not what they were doing nor what they were not, it was occurring together and without fear or concern.

Even the Christmas feast, when all of the students and faculty came together, was not without its moments. The Great Hall was adorned with its twelve trees decorated with spectacular ornaments. The tables, although sparsely occupied with the handful of students occupying the school over holiday, were lined with platters of meats, potatoes, vegetables, silver boats with delicious gravy, and more desserts than anyone could enjoy.

Furthermore, the customary wizard crackers were there in good supply. The lack of students offered more for each than previous years. It was these frivolous explosive novelties that offered Killian his opportunity.

As much as Hermione relished the time they had spent together, she was still aware they needed to be careful. Dining together during Christmas dinner simply was not an option. Although many of the students gathered together at a single table, again due to small number of students present, there was no mingling from any of the students representing Slytherin House. They, true to their form, stayed together at their own table. Many or few, those of their pedigree stood together.

Draco had not gone home for the holiday. Because of this, Hermione was happy Harry had gone to the Burrows, as Draco's presence would only pour fuel on an already raging inferno of theories. His presence, however, also complicated things for the evening. This meant that Killian had a shadow. Or the other way around, depending on one's point of view. Still, Hermione's reluctant Slytherin found a way.

"We've run out," Killian said, reaching over Hermione's shoulder for a wizard cracker as she sat at the table of assorted houses in the Great Hall. "I think I would like to have yours."

Every bit of his movement was purposeful, ensuring his reach caused her back to press against him, his mouth passing by her ear as he claimed her novelty. He sounded so arrogant, so demanding, so forceful, so very Slytherin. It was a role he played well.

"And I think you should find another," Hermione protested, attempting to swipe the cracker away before Killian could gather it up.

Killian was a hair quicker, obtaining the explosive party favor and whisking it away. Immediately, Hermione was on her feet, eyeing Killian defiantly.

"Give it back," she said sternly.

"Or what?" Killian asked, holding the cracker high above his head and out of Hermione's reach.

"Give it back," Hermione reiterated.

"Or …" Killian leaned in, his eyes level with Hermione's "… what?"

"You're really big," a young first-year Gryffindor boy pointed out. "Picking on a girl."

It was an attempt to defend his housemate, but the phrasing caused Hermione to close her eyes and cringe. This poor choice in verbiage was not lost on Killian, who found it most amusing.

"And what am I to make of that?" he asked, cocking his head and addressing Hermione's knight in shining armor. "Because she's a girl, she cannot fend for herself, is that it?" He then looked to Hermione. "I mean, you can, right? Fend for yourself, I mean," he clarified. "If not, I can take this up with your boy here."

"I'm quite capable," Hermione assured.

"There you have it," Killian said to the first-year with a coy grin and a wink. "She's quite capable. So run along, would you?"

In contrast to Killian's direction, the first-year stood his ground and was soon joined by several other students from other houses.

"You're only doing this because the professors have stepped out," one Ravenclaw pointed out.

"I'm actually doing this because I'm bored," Killian corrected. "And not all of the professors have stepped out," he added, pointing towards the High Table where Professor Flitwick lay with his head upon his plate. "Poor little guy," Killian went on with mocked sympathy. "A little too much wine."

Almost as if sensing that eyes were upon him, Professor Flitwick let out a nasally grumble and mumbled something about _swish and flick and swish and flick … You've got it!_

"My cracker," Hermione redirected.

"I tell you what," Killian offered, waving the cracker before Hermione, who took another swipe at it before Killian again placed it high above his head. "If you can get it, it belongs to you."

"We can get it from you," the young first-year spoke up again. "You can't take on all of us."

"Adorable," Killian said rich with condescendence. He then leaned towards the brave adolescent. "You, obviously were not here last year," he whispered with an arrogant grin.

The boy's face went blank. He had no retort as murmurs amidst the dozen or so students in the Great Hall drowned out any recognizable dialogue. It was clear, however, as a fellow Gryffindor pulled him back into the mass of students gathering behind Hermione, that they very much recalled what happened in the bowels of Hogwarts dungeons the previous year. While no details ever came of it, the rumors alone were more than enough to burn fear into any student's memory.

"So the offer in on the table," Killian said, readdressing Hermione. "Will you accept?"

Without a word, Hermione reached up for the wizard cracker. Much like after their duel in the Forbidden Forest the year prior when Killian would not relinquish Hermione's wand, Killian lifted her prize higher, just beyond the stretch of her fingertips. Stepping back and adjusting her sweater, Hermione went at it again, this time placing her hand on Killian's shoulder for balance and lift. Struggling against gravity and equilibrium, she increased her grip and pressed her body firmly against his, her fingers nearly reaching her goal.

"Careful," Killian whispered softly and inconspicuously in her ear.

"Is that what you want?" Hermione whispered back, lowering her head as she feigned stumbling, purposefully allowing her lips to gently slide down Killian's neck.

She was certain no one noticed, as their positioning blocked any view from the surrounding students. All but one, as it turned out. One whom had remained at his table, glaring at Hermione and Killian as they continued their scene. Saying nothing, Draco's expression spoke volumes; sighing with disgust and rolling his eyes from his seat at the Slytherin table.

Fearing Draco's reaction might draw attention, Hermione pulled back. Upon nothing more than instinct, she then gave Killian a swift kick to the shin. He immediately doubled over and Hermione wrenched her wizard cracker from his grasp to the sounds of cheers and applause from her fellow classmates.

"Well played," Killian congratulated, now hobbling in place with a look of bewilderment on his face. "By accordance of fair play, the cracker is yours."

Hermione mouthed a discrete apology to Killian, who seemed both lost and amused at the same time. She then reached for another cracker that was lying on the table among a pile that had been left over from the feast.

"In the spirit of the holiday season," she said, offering the cracker to Killian, "you may have this one."

"A consolation prize … How thoughtful," Killian mused, taking the cracker and admiring it. "I imagine you believe a thank you is in order."

"It would be proper," Hermione pointed out.

"Yes," Killian agreed before tossing the cracker back onto the table from whence it came. "It would, wouldn't it?" Without warning, Killian drew his wand and gave it a quick disinterested flick causing Hermione's cracker to explode in her hand, with several white mice popping out and scurrying about the floor at her feet. "Happy Christmas," he offering with a mock bow before heading back to the Slytherin table.

Hermione stood there for a moment, stifling a smile as she relished the moment she and Killian had just shared under the unknowing eyes of everyone around them while gasps and grumbles from onlookers filled the air. Amidst the commotion, Hermione noticed Draco leave his place and storm out of the Great Hall. Killian, gritting his teeth and shaking his head, soon followed. Knowing she may have been the cause of the issue, Hermione felt the need to pursue, as well.

Once freeing herself of the mob cheering her exploits, Hermione exited the Great Hall and hurried off towards the dungeons. She was certain that was where Draco had run off. Where else would one go when one felt the need to be away? Particularly Draco, who seemed as though he was not getting on with his cohorts as well as he had in the past.

Quietly descending the stairs, she heard Draco's voice; angry, frustrated. Exactly the way she had always known him to be, yet somehow different.

"… making fools of yourselves in front of everyone," he shouted.

"We were just having a little fun," Killian explained in his usual calm and collected manner.

"Fun?" Draco spat. "Is that what you call it? Fun?"

"Yes, actually," Killian said.

"How can you be so oblivious?" Draco argued. "Fooling around, playing games when you have more important things to do. Does it look like I'm having fun? Does it?"

"I don't know what it looks like," Killian answered. "I wish I did."

"No, you don't," Draco said, his voice suddenly softer and reserved. "You don't."

As Hermione stood on the steps, basked in the shadows and listening in on a conversation that was clearly not meant for outside ears, she felt a strange sensation welling up inside of her. Not quite concern, not quite pity, but something that tugged at her emotions in regards to Draco. He sounded so defeated. He had always been so well defined as a strong, arrogant, aggressive personality. He was a coward, by every right, but outwardly he was someone who was respected, even feared. To see him in this was like witnessing a giant bested and becoming irrelevant.

"Draco …" Killian began, but then stopped.

"Never mind," Draco said, even weaker than before. "Just never mind it all."

"I just needed a little levity," Killian explained. "Nothing more."

"And I needed you," Draco retorted, the fire in his tone returning. "Especially now! And you're off with your little Gryffindor!"

"Draco—" Killian began again, but Draco cut him off immediately.

"I've kept your little secret," he went on. "Everyone has kept your little secret. What you needed, right? All about what you needed. But what about me?"

"I'm here," Killian argued. "Right now. Just like I've always been. Nothing has changed."

"Is that right?" Draco argued. "Nothing's changed. Everywhere you go, sneaking off. Just having fun. Isn't that what you said?"

"You know that's not true," Killian argued further.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Draco shouted. "I'm not blind! She's standing right over there! Right on your tail! Are you going to deny that, Granger!" he called out.

The corridor fell silent for a moment. Hermione did not react immediately, going over what she had just heard and calculating if maybe it had a different meaning. Realizing she was merely delaying the inevitable admission that she had been seen, she relinquished.

"No," she said, coming across meeker than she had intended.

Descending the remainder of the steps, Hermione joined Killian and Draco. She felt ashamed, although she could not reason why. Finding it difficult to look at Draco and feeling too awkward to stand by Killian, she simply set herself to the side, forming a prefect triangle between the three of them.

"And here they are," Draco scoffed. "Don't they look sweet?"

"I didn't mean to—" Hermione began, but like Killian, she was shut down before she could continue.

"Quiet!" he chastised. "I don't want to hear your excuses! You think I don't know who you are? You're no better than Potter. Think you're so smart, think you're so much better than everyone else. The rules don't apply to you."

"You're one to talk about rules," Hermione fired back.

"I am!" Draco continued on, unfazed. "I know my place! You should know yours! All of you should know yours!"

"Draco, stop," Killian interjected. "You're not cross with her, you're cross with me."

"Who are you to tell me who I'm cross with?" Draco asked. "You don't know what I'm feeling. You don't know anything. My father is in Azkeban because of her. Because of her pathetic friends."

"Your father is in Azkeban because of what he did," Hermione corrected firmly. "He has no one to blame but himself."

Hermione expected an outburst, expected Draco to lash out at her. She was surprised to see neither. Instead, his demeanor softened once again, his defeated look returning.

"My father is gone," he lamented, his eyes on the floor. "My mother may as well be. And where does that leave me?" He looked to Killian, almost as if waiting for an answer. "What am I supposed to do? I don't have any choices anymore. None of us do."

An uncomfortable amalgamation of anger, sympathy, confusion, and sadness ran through Hermione. "Draco …" she began, reaching out a gently grasping his shirtsleeve.

"Don't you touch me!" he shouted as he pulled away.

As if sensing a possible altercation, Killian stepped forward, placing his arm between Hermione and his emotionally precarious housemate.

" _Flipendo_!" came a voice from the staircase behind them.

Before the voice had echoed, Killian was struck in the shoulder with a blast of light and sparks. All three turned and saw the same young first-year who had confronted Killian in the Great Hall standing at the base of the steps with his wand drawn.

"Did you just attack him?" Draco shouted, drawing his own wand and starting towards the bold student. "You little—"

"Draco, don't!" Hermione cried out as she stepped between Draco and boy.

In stopping Draco, however, Killian was left an open path. A path he took swiftly, stalking towards the first-year, disarming him with a flick of his wand, catching it from the air, and pressing the boy to the wall with a binding jinx of his own.

"Killian!" Hermione called to him, exasperated. "Let him go!"

"You must be mad," Killian said, his arrogant grin beaming. "The boy just shot me. I cannot simply leave it at that now, can I?"

Glancing over the boy's wand, Killian continued towards his captive prisoner.

"Black walnut, ten and one-quarter," his eyes suddenly lit up "White River Monster core. Now that is something. Wands such as this are no longer crafted. Not since Thiago Quintana met his end. Very rare indeed."

"It was my grandfather's," the boy said defiantly, struggling to free himself from Killian's jinx.

"What is your name?" Killian asked.

"Killian," Hermione called out. "Leave him be."

"What is your name?" Killian asked again, ignoring Hermione's plea.

"Gregory," the boy answered, attempting to remain steadfast, but clearly faltering.

"Gregory …" Killian pressed.

"Gregory Alderfer."

"Well, Gregory Alderfer," Killian continued, releasing his jinx. "I'm certain your grandfather would want to know his wand was not being wasted on one with such incompetence." He handed Gregory his wand and stepped back. "Your form is atrocious. I've felt a stronger sting from a horsefly. Address that in the future, would you please?"

With that, Killian left Gregory standing against the wall and walked back towards Hermione and Draco.

"You've gone soft," Draco said with disgust.

"He's a first-year," Killian dismissed. "Would you have me break his neck?"

Hermione left her place and hurried to the flustered first-year, now holding his wand in a position not quite at the ready, not quite at ease.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked.

"I wanted to make sure everything was all right?" Gregory answered.

"That was silly of you," Hermione chastised. "Everything is fine. We were just talking. It's what decent people do after an altercation."

"You won't tell anyone I was disarmed, will you?" Gregory whispered, the look of shame so evident in his face, Hermione almost wished to hug the young wizard for comfort.

"Of course not," she assured. "As long as you say nothing of anything you saw or heard down here. Am I clear?"

"Yes," Gregory agreed. "Perfectly."

"Now, off with you," Hermione ordered, directing him up the stairway.

Gregory did as he was told, shuffling up the stairs and disappearing down the corridor. Hermione then walked back to where Killian was standing while Draco paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair.

"Wasn't that a precious picture," Draco mocked. "All wrapped up in a pretty little bow. A holiday miracle."

"Not every conflict has to end in disaster," Hermione said.

"Go on and believe that if you like," Draco scoffed. He then glanced between Killian and Hermione sneering as he spit on the ground. "Happy Christmas."

He then turned and walked off into the darkness towards the entrance to the Slytherin House.

"Draco!" Hermione called after him, attempting to follow before Killian blocked her path.

"Leave him," he said as Hermione continued to try and force her way past him.

"No," Hermione argued. "Let me go!"

"It's all right, Hermione," Killian said.

"It's not all right," Hermione continued to argue, pulling at Killian's arms as he wrapped them around her, disallowing her to pursue Draco. "Stop him! Make him come back!"

"Hermione," Killian said calmly, in perfect juxtaposition to the struggle in which he was engaged.

But Hermione could not hear him, could not feel him. Her only thoughts were to break free. She wanted Draco to come back, she needed him to come back.

Her eyes suddenly flowed with uncontrollable tears. Her heartbeat increased as pain and anger flowed though her. The corridor blurred in and out of clarity, Killian's voice echoing as if in a flooded chamber. The once comforting warmth of his touch now transcended towards a burning flame she wished to douse and destroy. Then, as quickly as the all-encompassing cross of muddled sensations overtook her, it fell away.

"Hermione …" his voice was so soothing, so welcomed "… Breathe …"

Now in control once again, Hermione pressed herself into Killian, her teary eyes shut tight as he held her close.

"Why?" she asked, although she herself was not certain it was even a question. "Do you have any idea what he has done? Done to me? Done to my friends?" She pulled back and looked Killian in the eyes. "His father brought it on himself! Draco brought this on himself! It's not my fault! Why should I care how he feels? He deserves it! They all deserve it!" Her anger and anguish still wrestling within her, she began to push away from Killian. "I don't care!" she shouted. "I don't care!" she continued, now pounding on Killian's chest. "I don't care … I don't … It's not my fault …"

Even beneath the drumming of Hermione's fists, Killian would not relinquish her, taking each blow and holding her tighter still until she fought no longer. Drained both emotionally and physically, Hermione gave in.

"It's not your fault …" Killian assured. The tenderness of his voice arousing a conflicting desire in Hermione to both strike at him and rest in his embrace. "You do care …" he went on, gently stroking her hair as she rested her head upon his beaten chest. "And it's okay …"

"It's not," Hermione wept. "He's right … Draco's right …"

"I don't believe Draco had ever been more wrong," Killian argued. "And that's saying a lot."

"How can you possibly say that?" Hermione asked. "How can you know?"

Killian ran his fingers down the back of Hermione's neck. The sensation caused her to arch back just enough for Killian to kiss her softly on the forehead.

"Because I can," he said.

Whether or not Hermione believed Killian's words was irrelevant. The fact that he had said them, that he had believed them, was more than Hermione could have hoped for. She often wondered who, exactly, he was. Was he a Slytherin? Was he a Ravenclaw sorted into the wrong house? Was he both? Was he neither? At the moment, such a distinction had never felt more inconsequential. All that mattered was that he was there.

Now having collected herself to some degree, Hermione was able to clearly see the effects of her actions. The fresh tear in Killian's shirt exposed the reddened flesh beneath. Reddened flesh that would almost certainly bruise by morning.

"Killian …" she said, attempting to fold the torn material back into place. "I'm so sorry …"

"Not at all," Killian dismissed with a nonchalant tone almost comically unfitting given what had just occurred. "You've actually done me a favor. I've never been particularly fond of this shirt."

Hermione laughed, appreciating the absurdity of his attempt at redirection. "It's just a white shirt."

"Yes," Killian explained. "But as white shirts go, it is my least favorite."

Hermione began tracing the outlines of a rising welt with her fingers. "Your chest," she lamented, her voice weak, almost a whisper.

"Bruises heal," Killian whispered in return. "Far sooner than the mind and heart. But they can heal as well."

The realization brought forth a fresh stream of tears. As with so many times in the past, moments when Hermione doubted herself for one reason or another, Killian had the perfect thought, the perfect words, knew exactly how act, exactly what to say. And not simply for pacification or avoidance of conflict. It was true, it was real, it was sincere.

Until then, Hermione had not truly realized the breadth of the damage done over the previous years. She did not grasp how her own actions, noble as her intentions may have been, had catastrophic consequences for others. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. He deserved to be in Azkeban for his crimes. In many ways, perhaps he deserved a punishment far more severe. However, as malicious and callous as Draco may have been, he was not his father.

Hermione remembered Killian once making a similar comment in regards to his person in contrast to that of his own father. At the time, the words held such little weight when compared to now. Now it was different. Now Hermione understood. The sins of the father are so often visited upon the son. Be it Killian or Draco, there was no difference.

The few students occupying the school were by now, no doubt, making their way back to their common rooms to settle in for the evening. Christmas had come and was now in its twilight. Tomorrow would be just another day. But Hermione did not want to let go just yet.

Together, she and Killian made their way to a more secluded area of the castle near the Astronomy tower. Far from the dungeons, they found a recess in the wall where the window met stone. High enough to watch the moon trace the sky and warm within Killian's sweater, Hermione nestled in, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drumming rhythmically in her ear.

As she closed her eyes, she thought of what had occurred throughout the evening. She smiled, recalling how she and Killian played their parts so well in the Great Hall; a bit of theatre and perfect cover for chancing physical contact in front of their classmates.

She was amused further in how a young naïve first-year had attempted to stand up to Killian. He faltered, as any young wizard in his position would. Even so, he came back and boldly defended her in the corridor leading towards the dungeons. While there was nothing truly to defend, the sweet heroic nature was admirable and reminiscent of her first year at Hogwarts when she, Harry, and Ron times found themselves in precarious positions because of their bold pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone.

Then, she recalled Draco's face; the pain, anger and frustration he expressed. She recalled how it felt to realize she was, in part, responsible for it. She recalled her sympathy for a person whom had shown her nothing short of hatred and disdain since she first crossed the threshold of Hogwarts' vast foyer almost six years prior.

When she was younger it was so much easier, so clear. There was good and there was bad. Nothing more. Now, it seemed so much more complicated. Bad certainly existed. But Hermione's vision of _good_ felt more and more like a muddled middle gray mass of righteousness and depravity.

With every breath she took, the thoughts faded further and further. The sensation of Killian's hand slowing gliding back and forth from the small of her back to the nape of her neck eased her into a sense of calm. None of it mattered. She was with him. She was safe. She was perfect. And nothing could take that away.


	9. Chapter 9 - Ghosts and Specters

_One last post before the weekend. I have to mention that this chapter, at least the whole action sequence, was inspired by an actual nightmare I had. No joke. Right down to the look of the building, the man in the dirty overalls, the odd staircase, the hatch, and the ... well ... they were ghosts in my dream. And obviously Hermione and Killian were not there ... Or a ferret ... But the actual backbone of the action sequence was a nightmare I had. It was incredible and I love it when I dream like that. I highly recommend it. Also, the chapter title is based off a children's book of ghost stories I read when I was in elementary school called, "Ghosts and Specters." I did not even know what a 'specter' was at the time. Now, it seems a rather redundant title. However, the short stories in that book scared me as a child and has left a lasting impression in my memory. Thus, the homage._

 _But I digress ... Moving on ..._

 _Of Note … A portion of the dialogue was taken directly from JK Rowling's The Half-Blood Prince. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Nine -_

 _Ghosts and Specters_

The remainder of holiday break was relatively uneventful. Anything more than enjoying the emptiness of the school, the ability to walk about without concern, and the happiness Hermione felt in convincing herself that this, one day, would be her everyday reality.

As with all good things, however, this came to an end. When all of the students returned to school, Hermione greeted Harry, blew off his meager attempt to have her reconcile with Ron, and soon found herself in a conversation with Harry about altercation he had witnessed between Professor Snape and Draco during Professor Slughorn's Christmas party.

Hermione could see where Harry would be suspicious. If not for what she had witnessed on Christmas Day, this surely would have been enough to convince her there was more to Harry's Draco conspiracy than simple imagination. Still, she had seen the defeated look upon Draco's face, heard him speak of the pains he was experiencing; losing his father, fear of losing his mother, as well. As compelling as Harry's story was, it was not quite enough convince her.

"Hmm … Did either of them actually mention Voldemort's name?"

"I'm not sure …" Harry answered, clearly not happy Hermione did not immediately agree with his assertion. "Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else would that be?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, biting her bottom lip and contemplating. "Maybe his father?"

Even Hermione did not particularly believe this explanation to be very likely. As she stared off in no particular direction, her mind was a whirl with numerous thoughts and possibilities. What about Killian's meeting in Hogsmeade? What about the letter Killian received from his father? It stated that he was to meet with a man named Dourlish. Fred and George discovered that Dourlish was a laborer of some sort, which seemed to make little sense to Hermione. Even Draco had made mention that he needed Killian for some reason or another during his outburst on Christmas Day. Was he simply referring to support from a friend, or was it something more?

It all certainly seemed to point to something. But Hermione did not wish to believe it. Killian had asked her to trust him, promised her that everything was going be okay. He would not lie to her. Not about something of such importance. The last two weeks had been beyond wonderful, and now Hermione felt as though the memories were tainted by sudden thoughts of doubt.

Regardless, the seeds had been planted. Nothing would change that. Hermione needed to know one way or the other. For now, however, she believed it best to change the subject less Harry catch on to her concerns.

"How's Lupin? …"

Once dodging Harry's redirection back towards his beliefs about Draco being a Death Eater and a good long verbal thrashing of the Ministry for even attempting to ask Harry for help after what they put him through the previous year, Hermione finally retired for the evening. Opening her footlocker, she removed the Marauder's Map and quickly glanced it over.

Luckily, Harry had not yet asked for the map's return, nor his father's invisibility cloak, since she requested them following Professor Slughorn's Christmas party. Because of this, she did not have to worry about coming up with a good reason to ask for their use again. She doubted Harry would be willing to offer them without question a second time.

As her eyes danced across the aged parchment, Hermione saw Killian's footsteps in the Slytherin common room. He was alone. She knew what must have been on his mind as he paced the floor. Tomorrow was the night his father referenced in the letter. An unconscious grin emerged from the corners of her mouth.

"Mischief managed," she said. The map went blank.

. . .

The following day dragged on endlessly. Harry dropped several more hints to Hermione that she might want to make amends with Ron. She remained steadfast, however. At any rate, it did not appear that Ron was having any difficulties coping with their lack of an amiable relationship. It was Harry who was suffering. Hermione knew that. She would make it up to him. It was a task for the future, though.

The only real bit of excitement occurred when she saw the notice pinned to the Gryffindor common room notice board. For twelve galleons, any sixth-year who was to turn seventeen before August thirty-first would be eligible to take Apparition lessons. She and Killian had discussed her concerns with the class earlier in the year. Now that it was upon her, however, Hermione trepidation had become more of an anxious and collected confidence. If Killian could do it with such ease, she certainly was not going to shy away from the challenge.

As dinner was served in the Great Hall that evening, Hermione was entirely distracted. She glanced at the Slytherin table with such frequency it would have been impossible for anyone with any decent amount of observational skills not to notice.

"What's she on about?" Ron asked Harry, making quite sure he was loud enough for Hermione to hear.

Hermione would not dignify Ron with any sort of response. Instead, she cast another very noticeable glance towards Killian. Harry, as usual, was stuck in the middle.

"We just got back from the holidays," Harry offered in an attempt to cover. "Probably has a lot of reading to catch up on."

It was clear to Hermione that no word had reached Harry or Ron that she had, in fact, spent the holidays at Hogwarts. She doubted it would, as she made it clear to the few students who did not go home for Christmas that she did not wish it to be known. However, there was always that little nagging doubt that someone would let on. Perhaps her staged event in the Great Hall where she not only stood up to, but bested a Slytherin, offered Hermione enough respect from her peers to keep her secret.

"Reading?" Ron scoffed. "Probably all she did on the holiday. Miserable, if you ask me."

Paying little mind to Ron's remarks, Hermione watched as Killian left the Slytherin table and made his way out of the Great Hall. She stood suddenly, gathering her things.

Harry looked up at her. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"It will be," she answered with a quick smile before returning her eyes towards Killian so as not to lose sight of him. "And I had a wonderful holiday," she added curtly to Ron as she headed for the doors wearing a devious grin.

Once out of the Great Hall, Hermione ducked into a darkened corner and removed the Invisibility Cloak from under her robes. She quickly threw it over herself and resumed her pursuit of Killian. She found it so odd how quickly and calmly he made his way though the halls and out of the castle. It was as if he were simply taking a stroll to the library wing. How he was able to contain his emotions so well was beyond Hermione's understanding.

Outside of the castle, it became easier for Hermione to trail Killian. She no longer had to worry about the echoes of her footsteps off the stone floors. She maintained her distance, however, unsure as to where exactly they were heading.

Killian walked on, passing the covered bridge and heading down the path towards the boundaries of Hogwarts grounds. They were less than a Quidditch Pitch away when Hermione nearly squealed as a weasel-esque shadow came bounding towards her. It was not until she had successfully stifled herself that she realized it was merely Thomas, bounding about near her feet. She had not even noticed him earlier, but it appeared that the clever little ferret had noticed her. She was not sure whether animals could sense people under an invisibility cloak. Thomas was certainly putting forth a strong argument.

"Thomas!" Killian called in a terse whisper. "Come here!"

Hermione held her breath as Killian stormed back towards Thomas and picked him up, mere inches from where she was standing.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked of the chirping ferret.

With a deep sigh, Hermione waited for a moment before continuing on after Killian. It was not far to the boundary. When they reached it, Killian looked around to assure that he was alone. He then dropped his head, staring at the ground. Seemingly contemplative, he reached up and grasped Hermione's ring that still hung around his neck.

She knew it was going to happen at any moment. She had to time it right. As Killian raised his head, Hermione reached out, grabbing hold of his arm. She thought she saw his head turn in surprise, but before it could register, Hermione was hit with the suffocating effects of Disapparation. As before, and unlike when she travelled with Professor McGonagall, Hermione felt the odd sensation of being pulled through water. Perhaps, Killian was not as skilled at Apparating as Hermione had believed.

Regardless of his level of competence, he succeeded in his purpose. In a blink of an eye, Hermione found herself standing beside Killian in a deserted cobblestoned intersection. There was a sign hanging haphazardly above an archway spanning the road ... _Raturian Square._

Hermione had timed it perfectly, Apparating alongside Killian. She would have felt quite proud of herself if not for the fact that Killian now had her by the wrist. With a swift motion, he raked the Invisibility Cloak off her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked glaringly.

"Following you," Hermione snapped back, pulling her wrist free.

"Have you lost your mind completely?" Killian asked rhetorically, his eyes burning with concern and frustration.

"How dare you!" Hermione shouted back. "You're the one who's prancing about the halls at all ends of the night, wandering the grounds, and Apparating who knows where—"

"I don't have time for this," Killian interrupted. "I have to take you—"

"Don't even think about it!" Hermione glared as she drew her wand upon Killian, who stood defiantly before her. "I'm going with you!"

"Hermione," Killian began, but she would have none of it.

"Just stop it," she went on. "I'm tired of all these silly games! I'm tired of all the secrets! Whatever you've gotten yourself involved in, I'm coming with you!" Taking a deep breath and tempering her emotions, she lowered her wand. "Please … Let me help you."

Killian conceded, by action if not by word. He lowered his head and ran his fingers through his hair, saying nothing for several seconds. When he looked up at Hermione, his expression was not of anger or frustration, as Hermione had expected.

"You don't understand," Killian began, but was unable to finish his thought.

"If you two have a squabble, I can come back later," came a dry, raspy voice from the shadows of the street corner.

Hermione and Killian spun around towards the source of the voice. Out of the shadows came a short, stout figure with salt and pepper hair that matched his rough bristle beard. He was wearing dirty brown overalls and carrying an old and battered wooden toolbox as he limped his way over to them.

"Mr. Dourlish?" Killian asked of the filthy little man, his arrogantly confident appearance returning.

"That's right," Dourlish answered with a glance towards Hermione. "Killian, is it?" he went on. "Thought you were coming alone. Got your girlfriend with yeh, eh?"

"No," Killian answered immediately. "This is … Daphne Greengrass," he explained. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "She offered to come along and keep watch for me. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she's annoyingly persistent."

"She from here?" Dourlish asked.

"She is not," Killian answered.

"Bit dangerous, no?" Dourlish went on. "She, at least, know about it?"

"I'm not entirely sure that I know," Killian answered.

Dourlish laughed. "No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Come along, then," he added with a wave of his hand as he began down the cobbled road out of the square. "Dangerous bringing someone along though, isn't it? Outsiders and all?"

"That's not your concern," Killian said sharply.

"No," Dourlish agreed as he hobbled along. "Not mine at all."

Hermione continued to glare at Killian until Dourlish was out of earshot.

"Daphne Greengrass?" she gritted as she and Killian followed Dourlish.

"I thought it rather appropriate," Killian whispered.

"When we get back to Hogwarts, I'm going to kill you," Hermione went on, trying to temper her anger.

"Well, let's hope you have the opportunity," Killian retorted as he picked up Thomas, who had been struggling to keep up.

Hermione initially thought this was another of Killian's clever remarks. His expression and tone, however, caused her to second-guess this interpretation. She remained silent during the remainder of their hike, glancing at Killian every once in a while to try and gain some insight from his expression. As expected, though, Killian's expression gave little evidence of what was going on in his head. He simply stared after Dourlish, eyes fixed forward, jaw clenched.

As they continued along, Hermione was mesmerized by their surroundings. The cobbled road wound through building of stone, some with clay tiled roofs, others with pitched. The architecture and layout breathed a life out of the past, like a city lost in time. She assumed it must be some rural community in the outskirts of Europe. There were many, and Hermione never dare believe she knew them all.

They then came across a magnificent building. Crescent shaped steps ascended to large wooden doors, above which a mural was carved into the stone displaying what appeared to be an artistic representation of the cycles of life from birth to death. There were words inscribed in below it, but Hermione could not make them out in the darkness. Several spires ascended into the heavens much like the astronomy tower at Hogwarts, each wrapped with battlements reminiscent of a medieval fortress.

Even more impressive were the stone columns that lined the exterior of the building, masterfully designed to give the illusion of various races of humans and creatures were held within the stone, forcing their way out with aggressive force.

"What is that place?" Hermione asked.

"Saarla Manor," Dourlish answered with a friendly smile.

"Saarla Manor?" Hermione echoed, but was met with nothing more than a silent stare as they walked along. She looked to Killian, but offered nothing but a shake of his head, indicating to Hermione she should not inquire further. While it went against her every instinct, Hermione complied.

Several minutes passed before they reached their destination. It was an enormous building that more or less lay in ruin. It was dark, broken, and obviously constructed by magic. In many places, it defied the laws of gravity and ordinary architecture with its angles and altitudes.

"And this is?" Hermione asked.

"This is our stop," Dourlish answered. "Rature's Outpost Embassy of Sulfos Bire."

"Wait," Hermione protested. "We're going in there?"

"That's right," Dourlish answered. "Careful where you step," he cautioned as he made his way up the stairs towards the large double doors that hung decrepitly from their frames.

"Are you crazy?" Hermione whispered, grabbing Killian by the arm as he attempted to follow Dourlish. "We can't go in there. The whole building looks like it's liable to collapse.

"You were the one who insisted on coming along," Killian said before continuing after Dourlish.

"Killian, wait," Hermione said, grasping Killian by the arm and turning him back towards her. "What is going on?" she asked, a growing fear arising within her. "Where are we?"

"You can wait here," Killian offered, ignoring her questions. "I'll only be a moment."

He then placed his hand over Hermione's, gently pulling it from her arm. He appeared confident, appeared in control. But Hermione was now riddled with doubt. More so now than ever before.

Hermione stood there for a moment as Killian joined Dourlish, convincing herself that this was not madness. As Killian and Dourlish disappeared inside the delapitated structure, she took several deep breaths.

 _This will be fine_ , she thought. _Everything will be fine_. Even as she entered the embassy, she was not entirely certain she believed herself.

"Been working on this place since the Dracosenim Wars ended. Fixing it up and all," Dourlish explained to a less than interested Killian as Hermione caught up to them. "Probably why they asked me to help you out. Business has been slow these days. Always glad for a bit of side work."

"If you were so eager to work," Killian asked coldly, "why did it take you so long to make the arrangements?"

Dourlish smiled. "Can't rush these things. Very delicate."

Dourlish led Hermione and Killian through a foyer that was covered in dust and debris before heading up the stairs that led to the tower. As they ascended, Hermione glanced up and saw that the stairs seemed to go on forever. The further they climbed, the colder the air seemed to become, giving credence to Hermione's initial reservations.

Each level of the stairs exited into a labyrinth of halls before continuing upwards, with each hall being in equal disrepair. The floors were buckled, the walls cracked and pocked with holes. More and more, the building seemed overwhelming in both size and structure.

"Careful," Killian warned, grabbing Hermione by the arm. "Missing step."

Hermione looked down and saw not only a missing step, but also that the steps were becoming increasingly narrow and steep. She had not noticed up to that point, but it was clearly on her mind as they moved on. Each step now seemed more dangerous than the previous. Even Killian appeared to be a bit reluctant in his pace.

When they reached the second to last tier, Killian stopped and held out his arm, indicating to Hermione that they were going no further. The final flight of stairs was so rickety and steep it appeared as though Dourlish was climbing a ladder. Noticing that Hermione and Killian had stopped, he looked back and chuckled.

"Far enough for you, eh?" he mused.

"Beyond far enough," Killian said.

"You're fine where you are, anyhow," Dourlish explained. "Just about there."

Hermione watched as Dourlish climbed the remaining stairs and came to a small square hatch on the ceiling, barely big enough for a single person to squeeze through. He perilously placed his toolbox on the top step, opened it, and removed two items. One item was clearly a hinge, while the other was an odd object Hermione did not recognize.

"Ever seen one of these?" Dourlish asked, presenting the tool, which looked very similar to a simple screwdriver with several heads.

"Should I have?" Killian answered.

"Probably not. Doesn't look like you've got laborers' blood in you." Dourlish smiled as he began to attach the hinge he had brought alongside the existing hinge on the hatch. "Trade tool. Used to remove Barrier Hinges. You want to know why it took so long to get this organized? Had to build one of these little treasures." He gestured to the hinge he had just secured into place. "Takes time. Have to do it right. I, myself, haven't had to build one in years. Think it should hold though."

"Hold what?" Hermione asked.

"Hold the hatch closed while I take off the other hinge, of course," Dourlish went on. "It's what you're here for, isn't it?"

Dourlish's comment was met with blank stares and silence.

Dourlish laughed. "They really didn't tell you anything, did they?"

"But why do you have to replace the hinge?" Hermione asked. "Why can't we just have the one that you built?"

Dourlish smiled warmly. "Ah, you flatter me," he said wistfully. "Nothing I could build would compare to this. This here Barrier Hinge was built by a Master, ages ago. It's a lost art now. Not see the likes of it again, I'm sure."

Thomas, suddenly more jittery than usual, leapt from Killian's arm and began to scurry around in circles by his feet. Hermione quickly picked Thomas up and coddled him in her arms. As she did, Hermione noticed an expression of minor concern wash over Killian's face. At the same time, she noticed that the air seemed to become quite thick and cold.

"What's on the other side of the hatch?" Killian asked as Dourlish began to remove the Barrier Hinge.

"Not sure," Dourlish admitted. "Embassy has been left to rot for ages. Still, well protected and all. Was used to hide all sorts of things during the wars. Especially with all the raids. Anything dealing with the Dark Arts was seized. If you didn't want it confiscated, odds were you hid it here. Lots of secrets within these walls. At least there used to be. But that was before old Ren got himself overthrown by that traitor soldier boy and his harpy. If I were a betting man, I'd wager there's nothing up there now."

Killian took a moment to respond, his jaw clenched as he took a collective breath.

"Then why replace the hinge?" he asked, clearly not agreeing with Dourlish's assertions.

"Because I'm not a betting man," Dourlish answered with a smile.

It was apparent the explanation did little to ease Killian's concerns as he began to glance about, analyzing the area. Hermione shivered, her fingers becoming numb at the tips. She brushed it off, flexing her hands to get the circulation going, before returning her attention to Thomas, who was still quite fidgety.

"What happened to Ren?" Hermione asked of anyone who would answer, although Killian was so distracted, she was not certain her had even heard.

"Ren Saarla?" Dourlish echoed. "Some say he didn't survive the war. Others say he was exiled. Either way, he's not been seen for years." The Barrier Hinge came free from the hatch and landed in Dourlish's hand. "Probably why this became a safe house for Dark Lords. Although I hear they're being run out of Rature now ... What, with all the public works and renovations taking place," he added, tossing the Barrier Hinge to Killian.

The Barrier Hinge was bright silver and its luster was immaculate, in direct contrast to everything else in the Manor. It was etched with intricate swirls and curves that intertwined with one another, forming a seamless design that captivated the eye.

Before Hermione could examine it further, Killian concealed the hinge in his robes as Dourlish placed his odd tool in his toolbox. Hermione then noticed a faint hissing sound emanating from the hatch. As it grew in volume, the air grew steadily colder. Killian heard it as well, his eyes fixed on the hatch. Dourlish appeared unaffected by the noise, smiling as he locked his toolbox and turned to descend the steep stairs.

"Pay no attention to it," he assured. "The new hinge will hold."

The words had barely escaped Dourlish's lips when the replacement hinge shattered and the hatch flew open, tossing Killian and Hermione violently to the ground. Dourlish was drawn upwards, his body pressed against the ceiling, his face buried in the shadowy void beyond the hatchway. As Killian and Hermione got to their feet, they saw Dourlish's body twitching as if surging with electricity, the melon of his skin being replaced with a deathly blue-green hue. As Killian attempted to climb the stairs, Dourlish's lifeless body came crashing down, his face empty, his eyes void and dark.

"Killian!" Hermione shouted as the dark, decrepit, and hideously familiar form of a Dementor swirled out of the hatch and bounded for Killian.

Killian looked up just in time to avoid the Dementor's first approach. In doing so, he lost his balance and fell, the weight of his body smashing through the weak stairs. Hermione watched helplessly as Killian disappeared through the hole in the stairs, the crushing sound of shattering wood echoing through the empty building as tier after tier gave way under the force of Killian's fall.

Hermione raced down the stairs as a second Dementor joined in the chase. Careful to avoid the freshly damaged areas, she wound her way down until she finally came across Killian, who had managed to pull himself to his feet.

"You have to go," he said with a grimace, holding his arm, which was twisted at an awkward angle.

"I'm not leaving you," Hermione dismissed, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching Dementors.

Either too weak or too riddled with pain, Killian conceded, and the two of them continued down the stairs as the Dementors swirled down upon them, crashing through the winding staircase as they went along. The very walls of the abandoned embassy began to rumble and shake from the impacts.

When they finally reached the foyer, a knot arose in Hermione's stomach as she saw that a portion of the ceiling had given way and completely blocked the doorway. Killian, seeing the debris, painfully reached into his cloak and drew his wand. Before he could utter a word, however, he was thrust up against the wall, writhing in pain as he was caught in the clutches of a Dementor.

Hermione drew her wand just as the second Dementor entered the foyer.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" she shouted.

A slivery-blue otter erupted from her wand, circling the Dementor and driving it from the area.

She spun around and saw Killian, still pressed against the wall, his wand hand dangling motionless at his side as the Dementor drew in closer, sucking the soul from Killian's body. She cast another Patronus Charm, blasting the Dementor. The horrid creature released Killian, who crumbled to the floor, and disappeared back up the shattered stairway.

" _Reducto_!" Hermione cast with a flick of her wand toward the debris cluttered entrance.

The fragmented rubble blasted away, leaving a sizable hole, plenty enough for her and Killian to escape through. Hermione quickly grabbed Killian and helped him to his feet, surprised at how much effort it took. His strength seemed to be failing, his legs shaky and weak. She then grabbed Thomas, who had somehow managed to find them amidst the chaos, and tucked him against her chest.

Slowly and carefully, they limped out through the exit Hermione had created and did not stop until they collapsed on the street several blocks away.

Exhausted, Hermione leaned over towards Killian, now flat on his back and clutching his wrist.

"Are you all right?" she asked, placing her hand on Killian's chest and accessing the damage.

"I think my forearm is broken," he answered with a strained voice.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, slowly helping Killian upright to a seated position.

"Either that," he answered, forcing a very weak smile, "or I've developed a new joint."

He held out his arm, which was clearly bent at nearly a twenty-degree angle a few inches beyond the wrist. Hermione tried to be positive, but it definitely looked bad.

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" she asked.

"What are you talking about?" Killian answered painfully, holding his arm against his body as Thomas danced around his feet, trying to find a way into his lap.

"The Dementors," Hermione went on. "Why didn't you cast a Patronus Charm?"

Killian looked to the ground, shaking his head, and remaining quiet.

"Killian?" Hermione pressed on.

He finally looked at Hermione, his forced smile weaker than it had been only moments before. "I don't have a Patronus," he admitted.

It took a moment for Hermione to absorb the meaning of Killian's words. As she did, however, another thought immediately materialized.

"My God, Killian," she asked, her eyes wide and shaken. "What would you have done if I wasn't here?"

"I suppose it's a good thing you were," Killian mused through painfully gritted teeth.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Hermione threw her arms around Killian. He winced in pain, but she did not care. The realization of how close she had come to losing him overtook her senses. He would have died in that wretched building, and she would not even have known. Why were they doing this? It was so stupid. It was beyond stupid. It was dangerously reckless.

"Who's the girl?" came a course voice from the street opposite Hermione and Killian.

Looking up, Hermione saw several figures emerge from the shadows. None of the men seemed familiar, but their menacing nature was immediately evident.

"What's going on?" Hermione whispered to Killian.

"Trouble," Killian answered, his eyes fixed on the advancing crowd.


	10. Chapter 10 - A Pair of Aces

_It's Monday ... bleh ... But here is another post. That's kind of a good thing, I guess. I had a good weekend, so that's kind of a good thing too. right? Did you have a good weekend? No? ... I mean, yeah ... Right ... Of course, but ... Well, I'm not sure I can do anything about that ... It's really between you and your mother, isn't it? ... Have you tried calling? ... Phones work both ways, you know ... No, texting doesn't count ... Look, I can't do this right now. I'm kind of trying to get this post up while I'm at work. So we'll have to talk about it later._

 _Sorry about that ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Ten -_

 _A Pair of Aces_

"Say nothing," Killian whispered. "Do nothing."

Ordinarily, Hermione would have scoffed at such a request, but under the circumstances, she decided it best to follow Killian's lead. She watched with growing anxiety as five individuals emerged from the shadows cast by the dim streetlamps. Killian seemed to echo Hermione's concerns, but hid them well. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small canvas sack, placing it inconspicuously on the pavement beside him. As he did, Thomas scurried over and dove headlong inside.

"Asked you a question, boy," the raspy voiced man reiterated.

"A classmate," Killian answered as he scooped up the sack, which, to Hermione's surprise, appeared quite flat and empty. "Followed me. Not a wise decision, nor an action I expected or condone. But she was helpful."

"That's all well and good, I suppose," the man went on. "But she wasn't in the plan."

"Neither were you. Plans change, Tanzar." Killian grimaced as he attempted to stand, caught himself, and then continued with the motion until firmly upright. "Everything came out well enough."

The five figures were now in full light. Hermione immediately knew they were Death Eaters, recognizable by the unmistakable Dark Mark proudly presented on their bare forearms.

Tanzar was surly and rugged with an unshaven face and filthy hair that hung to his shoulders. Another of the Death Eaters was entirely hairless and horrifically scarred about the face and head. A third was built like a beast, his meat-hook hands and arms folded across his chest. The remaining two were mirrors of each other, pale and ominous with their fine ebony hair and vacant features.

"Where's Dourlish?" Tanzar asked.

"Still inside the embassy," Killian answered without emotion, as he approached the ragtag group.

"Didn't make it, eh?" Tanzar grinned as the rest of his brood broke out in laughter. "You know, I had fifteen Galleons that said neither of you'd be getting back through the Veil tonight. Guess I lost that one."

"Sorry to disappoint," Killian remarked casually.

"I take it you got it, then?" Tanzar asked, now face to face with Killian.

"I did," Killian answered.

He held the hinge before Tanzar. Tanzar looked at the hinge and licked his lower lip contemplatively. As he reached for it, however, Killian withdrew the object and placed it back within his robes. Tanzar narrowed his eyes at Killian, who glowered back indignantly, offering an awkward silence between the two that Hermione wished would soon cease.

"You see, the thing is," Tanzar finally said with a devious smile, "we were thinking it highly unlikely that you'd survive this little venture. Thought we might come along and pick up the pieces. You know, carry on where you left off, and all."

"And perhaps gain favor with the Dark Lord once again?" Killian mused, his casual mention of Voldemort sending ice through Hermione's veins.

"Don't mock me, you petulant …" Tanzar seethed, but then cut off. "You know _nothing_ of his fury!"

"I also know nothing of failure," Killian went on. "Are there any other differences you wish to point out?"

Again, silence hung in the air. Hermione was almost certain that something horrific was about to ensue. She gripped her wand firmly beneath her cloak, just as a precaution, as she watched the scene unfold before her.

"You should mind your tongue," Tanzar warned coolly. "Yaxley may have an agreement with your father that keeps you under his protection, but we have no such arrangements. And currently," he added as he grabbed Killian's broken forearm and squeezed firmly, "you don't appear to be in much of a state to defend yourself."

"I would be ..." Killian paused, clenching his jaw clenched in an effort to subdue any show of pain. "... _more_ than happy to put your theory to the test."

Tanzar released Killian with a boisterous laugh and turned to his brood, who joined him in his chortle.

"You are an audacious one," he said, returning his sights on Killian. "Let's get past all of this. We can work something out here, can't we? You had a bit of trouble at the embassy. No lie there, right? We happened along and helped out. You take care of your end, pass the news on to Yaxley about how we lent a bit of a hand, everyone goes home happy, right?"

"And you get to shine in good light?" Killian asked abstractly.

"Maybe," Tanzar said with another ominous smile. "Not asking for much. Dourlish is dead. Everything that happened depends entirely on your account of the story. No one would be the wiser."

"All right," Killian agreed after a moment's ponder, although Hermione surmised that it was merely for show. "Wouldn't want you to have wasted the trip. I'll pass the story along to Yaxley. What he does with it is out of my hands."

Tanzar nodded. "That's all we ask."

With that, Killian turned and headed back to Hermione. She stood, assuming that was the cue that they were leaving. Killian, however, still appeared to have a line of stress in his face.

"Still have another issue to address, boy," Tanzar called after Killian. "Got the girl there."

"I hardly find it necessary," Killian answered back without turning, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. "As I mentioned, she is merely a classmate."

"So you've said," Tanzar pointed out. "But that's not really the point, is it? If she followed you, as you say she did … Well, both know she's not one of us. Now that she's here, couldn't go back, even if she wanted."

"You misunderstood," Killian countered calmly. "She followed me to the boundaries of Hogwarts, where I discovered both her and her intentions. From there, due to her persistence and my inability to waste any more time, I brought her here. She is free to come and go as she pleases."

"Did you?" Tanzar said, seemingly either surprised or impressed, nodding his head and raising an eyebrow. "Well, that changes everything then, doesn't it. But …" he paused, with his finger in the air "… there is that other part, as well."

"And that is?" Killian asked dismissively.

"You know the rules," Tanzar answered, his malicious grin returning. "No outsiders. How much shall I wager that the little lady's forearm is bare?"

Killian did not respond. He simply stood before Hermione with his eyes pressed closed. She could see that his mind was racing. Unfortunately, it was also apparent he was not reaching any plausible solutions.

"She needs to be taken care of," Tanzar added forebodingly. "Unless, of course, you have a problem with that."

"None whatsoever," Killian replied coldly, his eyes finally opening and meeting with Hermione's. "She's incessantly annoying, and I warned her about coming along. Do as you wish with her."

Hermione gripped her wand ever tighter beneath her robes. _Trust him_ , she thought, trying to convince herself of something that should have needed no convincing.

Tanzar and his brood made their way over, encircling her, pulling at her, eyeing her like some form of feral prey.

"Hello, little puppet," the scarred one whispered maniacally in Hermione's ear as he leaned in close.

"A bit old for my liking," the one twin dismissed.

"But still so pure," the other added, grasping and smelling a lock of Hermione's hair.

"She will do," they concurred in unison.

"Back off!" Tanzar growled, stepping in and waving off his brood. "I'd rather like to see you handle this," he offered to Killian. "Make sure we're on the same page and all."

Killian swallowed hard, but kept his emotions firm. Breaking eye contact with Hermione momentarily, he glanced over her shoulder and into the shadows behind. A moment later, a familiar devilish grin washed over his face. He withdrew from Hermione and directed his wand upon her.

" _Never_ doubt my loyalties."

Hermione closed her eyes as Killian raised his wand to strike, but heard no jinx or curse cast. Instead, she heard several shrieking whistles dart past her ears, followed by large explosions, gasps, and cries of confusion. She opened her eyes and saw red sparks and orbs of light with comet-esque tails filling the streets. The orbs glowed ever brighter until they exploded into several small serpentine dragons that slung themselves around Tanzar and his brood as they made vain attempts to ward them off.

Her senses overloaded, Hermione glanced feverishly about the street, looking for Killian. Almost immediately, she saw him ducking orbs and dragons while casting defensive spells amidst the explosions that filled the air around them. As she tried to make her way to him, she felt an arm grab her around the waist from behind.

"Time to go, Hermione," came a familiar voice.

Familiar. Yet, amidst the chaos, Hermione could not draw a connection. Her only thought was to break free. Killian was hurt and fending for himself. Nevertheless, before she could react effectively, she felt the now familiar effects of being tugged, twisted, and pressed through water.

. . .

"That was a bit of a scrape, wasn't it, then?" Fred smiled as he handed Hermione a hot cup of tea.

Hermione was sitting in the back room of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes with Fred and George. It was Fred who had grabbed her in the square and Disapparated her away to Diagon Alley only moments before George arrived there with Killian, as well. She had never been so confused, frightened, elated, and otherwise emotionally exhausted in her life.

"So you knew about this all along?" Hermione asked, taking a small sip of her tea, still shaken from the recent events.

"All along," George assured.

"Didn't think Finn would walk into something without an ace up his sleeve, did you?" Fred mused.

"A _pair_ of aces," George corrected with a nudge to Fred's ribs.

"Although that was a bit more of a row than any of us anticipated," Fred admitted.

"Much more," George agreed. "Who were those bloody gits?"

"I figured you would know," Hermione said. "Seeing as how you all seem to be in this together."

"No need to spew your venom, woman," Fred defended with a grin. "Finn asked us to watch his back is all."

"Thought things might get a bit dodgy," George added.

"Are you telling me," Hermione asked in a disbelieving tone, "that you have no idea what Killian was doing?"

"None whatsoever," the twins answered in unison.

"And you just agreed to tag along?" Hermione asked on.

"Well, not exactly," George answered.

"You see, Finn wasn't exactly sure where he'd end up," Fred continued. "And we're not exactly a stealthy set of trackers."

"So how did you find us, then?" Hermione asked.

"Thomas fetched us," Fred explained.

"Thomas?" Hermione laughed, picked up Thomas, who had been sleeping on the counter, placed him in her lap, and began to gently stroke his back.

George tossed Fred the empty sack that Killian had been carrying earlier that night. Fred opened the sack, turned it upside down, and caught a small button that fell from inside. He then handed the button to a clearly befuddled Hermione.

"Used this," Fred explained further. "Turned it into a Portkey with a Return Charm attached."

Hermione flinched, nearly dropping the button.

George smiled. "Not to worry. We disabled the charms. It's pretty well useless now ... Unless you need to fasten your shirt."

"So you see," Fred said, "the Portkey brought Thomas here and we simply rode it back."

"Followed it back with a pack full of Dragon Snap Attack Caps," George added. "And Disapparated the two of you out of there."

"Felt a bit weird though, didn't it?" Fred said.

"Yeah," George agreed, scratching his head. "Like being tossed in a lake."

"A shallow one though," Fred added. "Really quick."

Hermione shuttered as she replayed the scene on the street in her head. How impossible it was they escaped, how improbable that their rescue was facilitated by the efforts of a small, weasel-esque companion, and how Fred and George could simply laugh it off as just another day.

Thomas pressed his nose to Hermione's hand, looking for attention. Smiling, she lifted him from her lap. "You _are_ a clever little ferret, aren't you?"

"Clever little _ferret_?" Fred scoffed. "It was my bloody idea."

"So Killian comes to you for help," Hermione clarified, disregarding Fred's claim, "and you just agree, no questions asked?"

"Sure," Fred answered. "He'd do the same for us. Got to have a bit of trust, don't you?"

Before Hermione could answer, a door in the far corner of the storage room opened. Verity came out, looking a bit irritated and tired. She opened a large cabinet on the far wall and sifted through several vials of multicolored liquids and powders. After gathering a few of them together, she closed the cabinet and returned through the doorway from whence she had come.

"Calm yourself," Fred said, addressing Hermione's expression of concern. "Verity's great with this sort of thing. She was practicing Magical Medicinals before she worked her way over to marketing and retail."

"I still think he needs a hospital," Hermione protested.

"He won't go," Fred said.

"Stubborn as a hernhock, that one," George added.

"Definitely," Hermione agreed.

"Not to worry though. Everything will be fine," Fred assured. "When you run a business like this, you have everything from Burn Balms to Skele-Gro right on hand."

"So I see." Hermione smiled. "And why, exactly, did Verity decide to leave the Medicinal field?"

"She was more or less asked to," Fred explained.

"She has a lot up here," George said, pointing to his head. "But her bedside manner…"

"Painful," the twins chimed in unison.

Almost as if on cue, a horrid crunch, followed by a stifled groan of agony, emanated from the other room. After a few moments, Verity calmly opened the door and made her way back to the cabinet, replacing the vials she had retrieved earlier.

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked.

"He'll be fine," Verity answered, closing the cabinet. "Forearm's broken clean through, cracked a rib, a few minor scratches. I've set the break and given him a dose of Merci's Mend Elixir. He should still rest for a few hours before you move him, though. Don't suppose it even makes sense for me to ask how this happened, does it?" she added.

Fred grinned. "Hermione bloodied him up."

"Bit of a spat," George added. "She's a real scrapper."

"Really?" Verity asked rhetorically. "Well, good for you if that's true," she said to Hermione. "Someone needs to slap some sense into that boy."

"Can I see him?" Hermione asked.

Verity shrugged. "Be my guest. Mind yourself, though. He's a bit delicate at the moment."

" _Delicate_ , is he?" George laughed. "Oh, that's a good one."

"He's not going to live this down for quite a while," Fred said, pounding fists with George.

" _Quite_ a while," George agreed.

Hermione shook her head with another smile and made her way to the door. _They're utterly ridiculous sometimes_ , she thought. Still, she was in their debt, even though she seemed to take it much more seriously than they did.

Hermione opened the door and entered a small room with a makeshift bed of several blankets laid out over a small stack of dock pallets. Killian lay there on his back, motionless, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy and deep. She thought perhaps he had fallen asleep, or worse, passed out. Either way, Hermione quietly made her way his side and looked down upon him.

Killian's broken arm was wrapped firmly in tight bandages. His shirt was opened, exposing his wrapped ribs as well as the, now significantly discolored, bruises she, herself, had given him on Christmas Day. He appeared fragile, but not delicate in Hermione's eyes. She had seen what Killian was capable of. There was nothing delicate about him. Not as far as she was concerned.

Whether it was an unconscious act or not, she did not know, but Hermione reached for Killian's sleeve. Slowly, she pulled it back, exposing his forearm. Forcing herself to look, she sighed with weighted relief as she saw that the skin was smooth and bare of any twisted skull and serpent.

"Are we reassured?" Killian asked groggily.

"I'm sorry," Hermione answered, wiping her eyes that suddenly began to water. "I knew that you … I just needed …" Her words choked in her throat.

"I may walk among them," Killian said, trying hard to smile through the pain, "but I will _never_ be one of them."

Hermione climbed into the makeshift bed and lay next to Killian. She rested her head on his chest as his good arm wrapped tightly around her. She tried to keep pressure away from his injuries but knew that Killian would not let on whether anything truly hurt or not.

"How was the party?" he asked.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Professor Slughorn's Christmas party," Killian clarified. "In all this time, we've never spoken of it."

Oddly, this was true. In all the time they had spent together over the holiday, the subject of Professor Slughorn's party never came up. Whether it was purposeful or a mere oversight, Hermione was not certain. It was not a night without incident. Yet, somehow, it did not seem important at the time.

Even now, Hermione felt like dodging the subject, content with enjoying the person she lay beside versus discussing event she would have rather missed altogether.

"I imagine it would have been a rather awkward conversation," Hermione said, shivering as visions of an evening of hiding in the curtains, uncomfortably mingling with other partygoers, and eventually leaving altogether without a word ran through her memory.

"Why?" Killian asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I would think it might upset you?"

"Upset me?" Killian went on, seemingly amused by the notion.

Hermione crinkled her nose and sighed. "You could at least pretend you were jealous."

"If you believe you can find someone better than this," Killian teased, painfully gesturing to his battered, bruised, and bandaged body, "by all means, have at it."

Hermione closed her eyes, just happy to hear Killian in good humor. Although, if not for Verity's warning that Killian was _delicate_ at the moment, she certainly would have slapped him for his previous comment.

"So, about the party?" Killian moved on, returning to his previous topic of interest.

"It was fine," Hermione lied, laughing at how common the conversation had become, given what had happened earlier that evening. "I actually left early."

In truth, the evening had been anything but fine. Although feeling guilty leaving Harry to his own end with Professor Slughorn on his tail from the moment he arrived, Hermione had hoped her escape would allow for some unaccounted time. Time she could have spent with Killian.

Unfortunately her hopes were left unfulfilled that evening, as Hermione did not find Killian haunting any of his usual locations within Hogwarts. He likely was in his common room, ending his day under the belief that she was enjoying a party with her classmates and mentors. Instead, she spent the night alone in her dormitory, wishing she had the forethought to plan ahead.

"Ron was decent to you, then?" Killian asked.

"Well," Hermione answered, "I didn't actually go with Ron."

"You didn't?" Killian asked with genuine surprise.

"No," Hermione explained, almost shocked that with all of the gossip flowing through the school, the news of Hermione's date to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party had not reached Killian in some form or another. "Ron's been a bit wrapped up in himself lately. I went to the party with McLaggen instead."

"McLaggen?" Killian seemed genuinely surprised. "And how'd that work out for you?"

"He was … less than a gentlemen," Hermione answered with a smile, knowing it would eat at Killian. He immediately took the bait, his muscles tensing in a vain attempt to sit up. "Relax," Hermione insisted, rubbing her hand across Killian's chest as he slowly conceded with a pain-stricken sigh. "You're hardly in the condition to do anything about it. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"That's not the point," Killian said, grimacing slightly.

"I know," Hermione agreed, feeling slightly evil as she thought about what Killian would do to McLaggen if she allowed it. However, as rude and uncouth as she found McLaggen, he did not deserve a retaliation on that level.

Hermione and Killian simply lay there for several minutes without a word passing between them. Hermione went over the night's events in her head over and over again. It seemed almost surreal, as if she had merely dreamt the whole thing. How close had they truly come to losing each other?

"Killian?" Hermione asked softly as she listened to Killian's heartbeat resonate rhythmically in her ear as the tips of her fingers gently caressed his chest.

"Yes," he answered.

"Why can't you produce a Patronus?"

Killian did not answer immediately. Hermione waited patiently, feeling Killian's chest rise and fall beneath her several times.

"I don't have the necessary tools," he finally admitted.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked.

There was another brief pause before Killian answered.

"A Patronus is the embodiment of a single precious memory. Pure, flawless, untarnished by pain or anguish," he explained before taking a long deep breath. "I'm a bit short on those."

For a moment, Hermione felt wounded by Killian's revelation. She had hoped that perhaps a thought or memory of her would be pure and flawless enough. It did not take long for her to push that thought aside, however, admitting to herself that her own Patronus was not conjured by any thoughts of Killian. The sting that came with the denials and secrets surrounding them immediately neutralized any feelings of euphoria she felt. Memories such as those would be useless.

They only had a few hours before Fred and George would Apparate them back to the boundary of Hogwarts. In the time they had, Hermione simply wished to forget everything that going on around them. She dared herself to believe that this was all there was. Just the two of them lying together, waiting for the sun to rise. She lifted her head and looked at Killian, who appeared to have truly fallen asleep this time. Leaning over, she kissed him softly on the lips before returning her head to his chest, watching it rise and fall with every breath.

 _Everything is going to be fine_ , she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Somehow, it _had_ to be. She would not allow herself to think otherwise.


	11. Chapter 11 - Glass Meets Stone

_It's Friday, once again. Slow week. But productive ... ish. Another chapter is up. I'd write more, but I have a crushing migraine and would like nothing more than to lie down with a pillow over my face and imagine a world where we have domesticated the panda._

 _Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Eleven -_

 _Glass Meets Stone_

The next morning, Hermione left Potions in a fiery emotional state. She had not yet begun to come to terms with what had occurred the previous night before being thrust into a stressful situation, once again.

In truth, the situation itself was not worthy of stress. She had encountered numerous moments in the classroom when she was put to the test and did not live up to her lofty self-expectations. It was a simple equation; create an antidote for an unlabeled poison randomly chosen from Professor Slughorn's desk. No, the equation was not the problem. The problem lay with the solution.

While Hermione worked both diligently and methodically, certain Harry would not be able to use his notated copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. There was no way any _Half-Blood Prince_ could offer a shortcut when the assignment was based primarily on the principles of both identifying the poison and then creating an antidote.

Even so, while Hermione struggled to brew a suitable countermeasure consisting of fifty-one separate ingredient plus a lock of her own hair, her potion was only half-finished when the proverbial sands of the hourglass ran dry. Harry, on the other hand, did not even bother to produce a mixed antidote at all. Instead, he presented Professor Slughorn a bezoar.

This solution, while practical in the sense that it would work in most instances of poisoning, completely defeated the purpose of the lesson; that purpose being to brew an antidote. And contrary to what any normal professor would have done should their student deliberately bypass the intended lesson, Professor Slughorn commended Harry on his prowess.

It was too much to bear. She had worked too hard, had felt too certain of herself. This was supposed to be the moment when Harry would finally be on an even playing field with everyone else. However, it was not to be.

Never in her life would Hermione have ever thought she shared anything in common with Draco, but the expression on the vindictive Slytherin's face when Professor Slughorn showered Harry with both praise and house points could not have mirrored Hermione's emotions any better.

Wishing for solitude and quiet, Hermione exited the Potions classroom. She did not even take a moment to offer Harry any wish for luck in his attempt to persuade Professor Slughorn into revealing the information Professor Dumbledore required. It was not as if he needed it. Certainly his _Half-Blood Prince_ could find a solution for him.

As she walked along, stretching her legs during the gap in her schedule before her next class, Hermione found herself in the Tapestry Corridor just beyond the Viaduct Entrance. Knowing this was not an area often occupied by the throngs of students bounding about the school during classes, Hermione believed she could find some relief in the form of reading. It seemed as though it had been forever since she had engaged in such a simple pleasure.

As she entered the corridor, she was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore walking along with, of all people, Killian. The sight seemed oddly out of place. While Killian was a student at Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore, no doubt, conversed with students other than Harry, Hermione had never really thought of Killian as being one of them. Maybe it was because he was, regardless of his character, still a Slytherin. And outside of Professor Snape, and more recently, Professor Slughorn, Hermione had never really noticed Dumbledore engaging with members of the House of Green and Silver. At least, not in any amicable manner.

The two passed by without a word, locked in their conversations of hushed tones. Killian was able to offer a quick glance, just long enough to let Hermione know he saw her, but little else. Once they had turned the corner, Hermione let out a dejected sigh and found herself a comfortable spot on the floor to read; a lack of seating in the Tapsty Corridor having slipped her mind.

Flipping through her copy of _Practical Defense Against the Dark Arts_ , Hermione let her mind waft into a sense of calm. The sounds of the air whispering across her ears soon faded into silence as she lost herself in incantations, counter-jinxes, shields, and barriers.

"You look a dreadful fright …"

Killian's voice snapped the soothing quiet, startling Hermione to the point of her text stumbling from her lap to the floor.

"Thank you," she snipped, retrieving her book and feigning a return to reading.

"Up with you," Killian said.

"Why?" Hermione asked, almost annoyed at Killian's shortness.

"Because," Killian answered simply. "Please," he, added with a roll of his eyes as he extended his hand.

Hermione glared at Killian though narrowed eyes. She felt awful for being short with him, but could not control it. Still upset with Harry's continued success in Potions, as well as Ron being … well, being Ron, her anger was now being felt by Killian. And as often as he had deserved to feel her wrath, this moment was not one of them. He was simply the person present.

After hesitating, only to make Killian wait, Hermione reluctantly offered her hand. Killian grasped firmly, pulling Hermione to her feet, struggling under the pain in his arm and chest that had yet to heal from the previous night's escapades. He hid it well, as he had always done with anything that would show any sort of weakness. Even so, Hermione noticed. Worse, she did not acknowledge it. She wanted to. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but did not find their way to her lips. She was angry. She wanted to be angry. She could not let it go.

"All right, now that you're off the floor," Killian began once Hermione was upright, her scowl still firmly in place. He then removed a handkerchief from within his robes. "May I?"

"May you what?" Hermione asked dismissively.

She was being so cold, almost cruel. Yet, Killian simply smiled, gently dabbing her cheeks and the tip of her nose with the soft cloth, displaying the ashen soot for her to see.

"Bad day?" he asked.

Hermione looked at the handkerchief, seeing the grime that had been on her face and nose. As best she could, she tried to maintain her current mood, but felt it slip away in a flash of levity, a contented smile breeching her glower.

"I just walked through the entire school," she said with a laugh, taking Killian's cloth and wiping the remainder of her face.

"Yes," Killian said. "Looking as though you've just swept a chimney, it appears."

Satisfied she no longer looked like a peasant begging for coins in the streets, Hermione returned Killian's handkerchief and collected her bag.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, actually," Killian answered. "I was on my way."

Seeing Hermione's reaction, Killian bit his bottom lip, glancing back and forth down the corridor. The look in his eye, usually reserved for a moment of devious behavior, arose as he reached out and grasped Hermione's hand.

"I have a few minutes," he said, leading her down the corridor towards Professor Snape's storeroom. "Come on," he went on as they reached the door. "In here."

"We can't," Hermione protested.

"I can," Killian assured with an arrogant grin, drawing his wand and giving it a quick flick. The lock clicked, the knob turned, and the door swung inwards with a creaky whine. "Hurry," he went on, pulling Hermione inside and closing the door behind them.

Looking around, Hermione was immediately reminded of her second year, when she had broken into this same room to steal ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion she brewed for herself, Harry, and Ron. It seemed like ages ago, at the same time feeling like yesterday.

"We shouldn't be in here," Hermione warned, knowing full well the extent of Professor Snape's fury if they were to be caught within his storeroom. Dancing in an empty hall or being out afterhours by the path to the boathouse were one thing. This, on the other hand, was entirely different.

"There is no need to worry," Killian promised. "Professor Snape is currently in class and no other professors have need for anything stored within these confines. We have time. Brief as it may be." He leaned up against one of the dusty shelves, placing his hands in his pockets. "So, would you like to tell me what's bothering you?"

Hermione noticed Killian hesitate and readjust as his back came in contact with the shelf behind. His fractured rib was bothering him more than he let on. With that realization, she suddenly felt silly and small. Being bothered by something as simple as an altered text when there were so many far more important things occurring.

"It's nothing, really," she answered, crossing the storeroom towards Killian and placing her hand between his robe and his shirt, feeling the dressing still wrapped around his ribs. "How are you feeling?"

Killian took Hermione's hand from his side, drawing his fingers to his lips much like no teenager outside of a storybook would ever do, and smiled.

"I'm feeling as though something is bothering you," he said, his annoying grin so charming at the moment.

Wanting to groan, Hermione pulled away and joined him in his lean, her head on his shoulder. Just last evening, they were lying together on a pallet covered in blankets, having barely survived an encounter with Dementors and a pack of Death Eaters. And now, it was as though it were just another day, with Killian acting in ways only he could act. How could he be so different, yet somehow fit in?

She tried to imagine Harry or Ron or Victor or Cormac behaving as Killian. His manner of speech, his expressions, even the way he had kissed her hand only moments before. If she were to see anyone else attempt such a gesture, she would be pressed not to burst out in laughter. It would be absurd. People do not behave in that manner. Not in real life. Yet, with Killian, it all seemed so natural. Unnaturally natural, but natural just the same.

"So are you going to tell me?" he asked. "Or shall we simply stare at the shelves until I have to leave?"

"It's stupid," Hermione scoffed, looking to the floor and kicking at nothing in particular.

"That's allowed," Killian said. "Not everything that happens needs to be catastrophic. We're just students, after all," he added with a gentle nudge. "Our problems are meant to be stupid."

The thought of such a thing had not occurred to Hermione. They were children. Maybe not young, but certainly not adults. Their worries should entail friends, clothing, school work, and other such nonsense. She had grown so accustomed to dealing with life and death, more so that latter than the former of late, the idea of having a simple issue seemed ridiculous.

"Let me guess," Killian mused, gazing into a darkened corner of the ceiling. "You were covered in sweat and soot, angry, looking to be alone … This would be about Harry's Half-Blood Prince, am I correct?"

Hermione's emotions suddenly burst without warning. "I cut my own hair!" she cried, attempting to stifle either tears or laughter, either seemed appropriate at the moment.

"I noticed," Killian said. "I refrained from commenting as I was uncertain of your mood at the time."

"My hair, Killian," she went on. "I couldn't find any Gnat Heads. But I'd read that human hair can be ground up and used as a replacement in some instances with moderate success. Female human hair, specifically. But by the time I came to that conclusion, I'd wasted so much time I couldn't get back on pace. And in the end it didn't even matter. I didn't finish and now I look ridiculous with a lock of hair just lopped off."

"I think you look wonderful," Killian said. "Edgy even."

"That's because you're stupid," Hermione teased dismissively, now smiling and giving Killian a nudge of her own.

"For the record, however," Killian went on, "human hair, male or female, is not a suitable replacement for Gnat Heads. You were thinking of Pearl Dust. And realistically, the success with said substitution is far less than moderate and more accurately defined as limited. It was clever thinking, however. I'm not certain many students would look to attempt something untested. None from my class, that is for certain."

This time, Hermione did not hold back, groaning long and loud, pressing her forehead into Killian's shoulder as he smiled with amusement. Even his attempt at consoling her through compliment did little to ease her mind. She had failed. That was all that mattered.

Killian stepped away from the shelves and drew his wand. "Look up," he said.

Hermione was reluctant to oblige, feeling embarrassed both for her misinformation on ingredient replacements as well for how she had reacted to the events that took place in the Potions classroom. Killian placed his hand on her cheek directing her gaze towards him. Looking at her for a moment as he ran his fingers through her mangled hair, he began to smooth his wand over her severed lock, each stoke mending and elongating the strands until they were full and blended once again.

"I'm no stylist …" he mused as he admired his work "…but I believe it's perfect."

"Stop," Hermione dismissed, blushing from the attention he was giving her.

"See for yourself," Killian pressed on.

With a flick of his wand, a small mirror appeared, hovering before Hermione and reflecting her face and hair. Killian walked behind her, leaning in, with his lips near her ear.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

Before Hermione could enjoy the smile that had on just reached her mouth, she saw a bruise peeking through the neck of Killian's shirt. The moment Killian so skillfully attempted to make about Hermione melted away in an instant, replaced with questions that had been pounding through Hermione's mind since the moment they Apparated to Raturian Square.

"Killian," she began, trying to sound more confident than she currently felt. "Who were those Death Eaters?"

Almost as if sensing the approaching inquiry, Killian laughed under his breath, turning away and pacing along the shelves in a short, yet determined path.

"Are they not all the same?" he asked, more rhetorical than curious.

"They knew you," Hermione went on.

"Tanzar knew me," Killian corrected. "Knew of me … My family. The others …" he paused, as if thinking of the correct way to express his thoughts "I don't know who they are. Not by name, at least. But they have a reputation. Tanzar's brood … His family."

"His family?" Hermione asked, perplexed by the thought.

"Not by bloodline," Killian clarified. "By oath. Penned in the blood of their victims." Ceasing his pacing, he turned back to Hermione, his eyes pleading. "Hermione, it doesn't—"

"Don't you dare say it doesn't matter," Hermione cut in. "They tried to kill us!"

"They're Death Eaters," Killian said, attempting to be coy. "They're always trying to kill someone."

"But you're inviting it," Hermione argued.

"Like you and your friends when you took off for the Ministry last year?" Killian countered with a bite in his tongue.

Hermione knew Killian immediately regretting both his words and tone as he withdrew, balling his fist and rapping it against his forehead. Still, he had a point.

"I know we were stupid," Hermione said after giving a moment to let the rising emotions in their conversations settle.

No," Killian argued, to Hermione's surprise. "You were not stupid … I would have done the same thing … I _am_ doing the same thing."

Hearing the conflict in his voice, Hermione approached Killian, crossing his path to face him.

"For what?" she asked. "What were we even doing there? What is so important about a hinge that Yaxley would sent you to that awful place to retrieve it? And who is he getting it for? From what Tanzar was saying, it sounded like—"

"I don't know," he said, again clenching his fist, tempering his emotions.

"Killian …" Hermione pressed with doubt.

Killian grasped a bottle of Riddled Ragweed, blowing off the dust before replacing it on the shelf. This was little more than an exercise in futility, an action to delay an inevitability that was soon to pass.

"I don't," he insisted. "I have no idea. I'm not to know. That's the point. I'm to do as I'm told, nothing more."

Knowing there had to be something beyond Killian simply following orders, Hermione refused to let it go. But before she could utter her next thought, Killian spoke up with fervor.

"I need you to trust me. I just—"

"I do trust you," Hermione said. "With all of my heart, I do. I'm just …" she now found herself balling her fists as well, unsure if she wished break something or bring it to life "I'm scared," she finally admitted. "I feel as though my entire world is crumbling to pieces. Harry is off his mind over Draco, Katie Bell was nearly killed, the Ministry is in shambles, you're playing errand boy to filth, and …"

Voices from the corridor outside the storeroom echoed off the walls. Raising his hand to silence Hermione, an action she found to be both pointless and borderline insulting, Killian quietly walked to the door, pressing his ear to the aged wood.

"Students," he whispered, gritting his teeth. "Which means I'm late."

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized.

Killian rolled his eyes and sighed at Hermione's admission of weakness as the voices faded into silence.

"What will they do? Expel me?" he asked. "Not likely."

He then reached over, grasped her errant lock of hair from her eyes, drawing it back behind her ear, and smiled.

"Never stays in place," Hermione said, blushing from his touch.

"I'd be saddened it if it ever did."

Looking into Killian's eyes, Hermione felt so lost. Yet, at the same time she was alive with sensations she could not even begin to describe. It was a powerful feeling. Frighteningly powerful. In the end, however, her academic mind outweighed any overwhelming or compelling emotions on this matter. When glass is struck by stone, it will shatter. No arrogance or powerful emotions will shield it from its demise.

"You can't so this alone, Killian," she lamented.

"I'm not alone," Killian said.

"You need real help," Hermione clarified. "I'm not enough."

"As poetic as that may have been," Killian explained with a grin, "I was not referring to you."

The image of Killian walking alongside Professor Dumbledore ran through Hermione's mind. Nothing in Hogwarts ever happens without Dumbledore's knowledge. Now, at least, she understood why Killian had never said anything. After all, she was well aware that Harry held many secrets between himself and Dumbledore that he, himself, was not allowed to share. Why should this be any different?

"You did not truly believe me arrogant enough—"

"You?" Hermione asked, swallowing her laughter as best she could. "Arrogant? Never."

"Exactly … So …" Killian actually appeared both thrown and amused by Hermione's sarcasm. "Trust in me?"

Hermione reached up, fastening a button atop Killian's shirt to cover the edge of the bruise she had seen in the mirror's reflection. "Promise me you know what you're doing."

"I promise," Killian assured.

"And promise we will never go back to that place," Hermione added.

"Never again …"

"Okay," Hermione said, not feeling entirely optimistic, but better than she had the night before. "Well, you need to be off."

"I do," Killian agreed.

They walked to the door, listening for any students or professors who may be haunting the area. Once satisfied the Tapestry Corridor was clear of eyes, Killian grasped the door knob. Turning it slowly and quietly, he suddenly paused.

"What did he brew?" he asked.

"What?" Hermione asked in return.

"Harry," Killian clarified. "I assume he did something masterful. Thus, your unsettled state earlier."

"We were meant to identify a poison picked at random and brew an antidote," Hermione explained.

"And?" Killian pressed. "What did he brew?"

"Nothing," Hermione answered with more spite than intended.

"Nothing at all?"

"No, nothing at all."

"And the problem with that?"

"He used a bezoar."

"Oh … _Oh_ , a bezoar." It was clear it took a moment for Killian to realize the strategy. "That's actually pretty clever. For this Half-Blood Prince, of course," he quickly added as Hermione eyes were like daggers upon him. "Not Harry, though … He definitely cheated."

"I hate you," Hermione teased.

Killian's arrogant grin beamed as he leaned in and quickly stole a quick kiss before opening the storeroom door.

"I know."


	12. Chapter 12 - Descending Magic

_For the love of everything holier than thou, this post took a lot longer than I'd hoped. In part, it was due to me realizing I had to go back and make corrections to a previous post. Yeah, Percy Buckley is actually Liam Buckley. Percy is actually Percy Teague, completely different character for later in the story. How did I screw that up? Good question ... Percy Teague is much older, looks and acts completely different, and ... I screwed up. I really miss my editor :( ..._

 _Alas, I went back and made the corrections to the previous chapters, and the new one is finally up and ready to go. Did I say I really miss my editor? Like really, really miss my editor? And not just because she was a wonderful editor who would have realized I wrote the wrong first name for a character. Anyways ... Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Twelve -_

 _Descending Magic_

Over the next few days, Hermione saw very little of Killian. He had said in a letter passed through Crimna that he was not feeling well. While, admittedly, he did look rather pale and sickly in the brief moments she would catch a glimpse of him across the Great Hall during breakfast, Hermione doubted his physical health was entirely the reason behind his sudden absence.

Each day, the posts continued to arrive. Each day, the same routine followed; with one exception. Whereas before, Killian seemed unsettled and reluctant about the missives, he now seemed less a courier and more a recipient. He no longer passed the envelopes along with dismissive mannerisms. Now, he kept them, reading the contents of the message, before speaking with Draco in undertones. This only added to Hermione's suspicions.

Regardless of what was or was not happening with Killian, Hermione had other pressing matters as well. Even though Hermione retained her hostilities over Harry's constant reliance on his notated Potions textbook, as well as the way he had used it to present the facade of being a wonder at Potions, he was still her best friend and was in need of help only she could provide.

Lost in the library, searching for everything and anything she could find on Horcruxes, Hermione found nothing but frustration. Nowhere in the vast amount of information housed within the labyrinth of shelved tomes was there a mention of what Horcruxes even were, let alone what they did. Not even the Restricted Section provided a clue.

" _Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction_ ," Hermione read from _Magick Most Evile_ , the only book she managed to find that even referenced the existence of this elusive magical creation. "Well, that's not very helpful at all," she thought aloud.

Slamming the book closed and pushing it aside, Hermione stared at the rows of books before her. The worst of the worst in the Restricted Section. The most horrific of spells, the most gruesome of potions. Nothing. Never in her life had she felt so inadequate in regards to research.

Resting her eyes, Hermione took a moment to relax, stretching her arms and legs to release the tension that had built up over the previous hours of sitting. As often happens when her mind is not occupied with other tasks, a thousand thoughts swirled about, intersecting and colliding in random fashion. Harry, Horcruxes, her strained relationship with Ron, her guilt over how her actions have affected Draco through the years, her life with Killian …

The latter of these thoughts spun off on its own. The visit to Raturian Square, Liam Buckley and Aeris Baethen, those deep purples gloves that seem to be popping up in the strangest places, Tanzar and his brood …

"Hang on," Hermione said to herself as she leapt from her chair and began down the aisles scanning through shelf after shelf. "Tanzar, Tanzar, Tanzar …" she went on, as if repeating the name would somehow guide her hand as she searched the endless spines staring back at her, defiantly concealing their secrets.

Then, she saw it. For a moment she hesitated, almost fearful of grasping the tattered text. She had seen a copy once before, albeit in far better condition. At the time, it meant nothing to her. Now it was different. Far different.

" _Descending Magic by Alfonse Tanzar_ …" Hermione was careful to keep her voice guarded, yet still felt the need to read the words aloud.

Returning to her chair and bag, Hermione opened the book and turned the first few pages, seeing an image of the author, Alfonse Tanzar, Second Cathedra of the Conclave, EoJ 1412. Although bearing a resemblance, it was clear the person portrayed in the image was not the man she and Killian encountered in the streets of Rature.

The strange title and numbers associated to the sorcerer meant nothing to Hermione. She had never seen anything like them in any books she had ever read. Although unable to decipher any recognizable date of publication, it was clear the text was very old, the pages worn and yellowed, the cover and spine deteriorated almost beyond repair.

Further along in the text she came across terms more recognizable to a student of witchcraft and wizardry. Jinxes, curses, and protective spells filled the pages. Although the title of the book seemed cryptic, the theme was very clear. It broke down the most complex forms of magic to their very roots, showing how it is the littlest of details, the simplest of skills, when put together in the proper fashion, can manifest into the weapons wielded by the most powerful of magic users.

Almost in a trance as she leafed through page after page, Hermione felt her heartbeat accelerate. Why would something so useful be locked away within the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library? Why would this text not be mandatory from the moment a student entered these hallowed halls? It streamlined the wielding of complicated magic; magic that had taken Hermione months, even years to accomplish with even moderate success.

As her eyes danced across the ink-stained paper, feeling the fragile pages crinkled under her grasp with each turn, she was startled by a shuffling sound beyond the shadowy rows. Seeing the pages of an opened book upon the table flutter, she breathed a sigh of relief, realizing it was nothing more than a gust of wind whistling through the library. As often is the case, even in winter, the library was quite warm in some areas. Madam Pince would often open a window to allow for fresh cold air to create a balance. Even so, the momentary fright was enough to persuade Hermione she would rather be elsewhere at the moment.

Cursing herself for returning Harry's invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map, Hermione open her bag and slipped the aged copy of _Descending Magic_ within. Taking a book from the library without permission was highly prohibited. Taking one from the Restricted Section, even more so. But Hermione could not quell her overwhelming desire to possess Alfonse Tanzar's manuscript, to know what it contained.

Passing by several long oaken tables and making her way to the doors, Hermione's heartbeat accelerated once again. She had heard rumors of various charms and spells placed upon the literature to prevent students from stealing texts or defacing their pages. Of course, she both tore a page from a book and removed said page from the library, finding herself completely unharmed, while researching the Basilisk during her second year. So the rumors could very well be nothing more than fanciful gossip passed along by the students over the years. The again, perhaps the effect of her literary transgression was her being sought out and attacked by a monstrous and venomous creature.

Hermione shuttered as memories of that horrifying moment washed over her. Had someone told her at the time that a mammoth killer snake would have been the least of her troubles over the course of her studies Hogwarts, she would have thought them mad. These days, she almost longed for something as simple as a serpentine stalker.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped over the threshold from the library to the hall beyond. Thoughts of being frozen in place or blasted from her feet played out in her mind as she contemplated various excuses for 'accidentally' removing a book from the library, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable moment she was discovered.

As she continued onwards, however, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Almost more concerned due to the lack of occurrence, Hermione hastened her step. As she rounded the corner on her way back to Gryffindor Tower, she saw Luna sitting calmly on a sill, gazing out the window at Hogwarts grounds.

"Oh hi, Hermione," Luna greeted with an airy nonchalant tone. "Can't sleep?"

"Just reading," Hermione answered. "You?"

"I'm actually pretty tired," Luna answered. "But I wanted to practice a little."

"Practice what?" Hermione asked, puzzled by the comment.

"Watching," Luna answered.

"Watching?" Hermione asked on. "I don't understand. Watching what?"

"Anything, really," Luna answered. "Tonight, I'm watching the sky. You never know what you'll see when you look at the sky."

Hermione walked over to Luna and glanced out the window. "Do you see anything?"

"No, not today," Luna answered. "It's not a very good sky tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

Not wishing to be delayed, particularly with what she was concealing in her bag, Hermione began to walk on when she heard Luna call after her with curiosity.

"Where did you get that?"

"Get what?" Hermione asked, pausing as her heart jumped into her throat.

"The book in your bag," Luna answered, confirming Hermione's fear.

Hermione turned back to Luna, wringing her hands. "Luna …" she began. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"I imagine so," Luna answered. "Why? Do you think you will?"

Glancing around to ensure the hall was empty, Hermione walked back to Luna and took a seat beside her. "Promise you will not say anything about the book," she pled.

"May I see it?" Luna asked.

Thrown off by Luna's near casual dismissal of her request, Hermione slowly removed the copy of _Descending Magic_ she had taken from the library and presented it to Luna. Luna glanced it over, flipping through the pages with eager recognition.

"Alfonse Tanzar …" Luna said to herself as she perused the text.

"Do you know him?" Hermione asked.

"No … He's been dead for quite a long time," Luna answered with innocent simplicity. "It's difficult to know someone when they've been dead for so long. Where did you find this?"

"The library," Hermione answered.

"Really?" Luna asked. "That's odd. It looks very old," she went on. "Much older than my father's copy. I wonder if it's an original printing."

"Your father has a copy of this book?" Hermione asked, attempting more than ever to keep Luna focused.

"He did," Luna answered as if there were no importance to it at all. "Until it was taken away. They said he wasn't supposed to have it. No one is. I imagine that's why he wanted it so badly."

"Taken away?" Hermione asked. "Who took it?"

"They did, I think," Luna answered, casually glancing over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione spun around and saw Liam Buckley, Aeris Baethen, and the odd old man who had approached them in Hogsmeade the previous year standing together and watching them. "Although it may not have been them, exactly," Luna clarified. "It's difficult to tell."

"Hello, Luna," Mr. Buckley greeted in a friendly, yet very proper tone as he draped his overcoat over his arm and tapped his walking stick on the stone floor.

"Hello," Luna greeted in return.

"You know them?" Hermione asked of Luna.

"No," Luna answered with a whimsical smile. "Do you?"

"We're acquainted," Mr. Buckley answered before Hermione had an opportunity to respond.

"Hardly," Hermione argue. "Here to check on Killian again?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid," Mr. Buckley answered.

"Then what?"

"For one," Mr. Buckley explained, "you are in possession of something that does not belong to you."

"The book," Aeris said, extending her hand, dressed in its long deep purple glove, towards Luna.

"Well …" Luna began, glancing between the copy of _Descending Magic_ and the trio of wizards who had them cornered in the corridor. "It's not really mine to give. So I'm not certain I should."

"I'm afraid you are not being given a choice," Mr. Buckley clarified. "If you do not surrender the book, we will be forced to retrieve it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, taking a step closer to Luna, her hand trembling near her wand, tempting her to draw it out.

"Now, now," the older man said as he stepped forward, his rosy cheeks dimpling as he stroked his stubby beard. "There is no need for any of that. They are merely students. No harm intended. And they certainly pose no threat."

"You'd be surprised," Hermione said, attempting to temper adrenaline pounding in her veins.

"I believe I would," Aeris agreed, narrowing her eyes with smile.

"She does have spirit, does she not?" the old man complimented with laugh.

Mr. Buckley sighed and looked to the ceiling. "Be that as it may, Phineas," he said. "We are not here to debate character." He now extended his own hand. "The book, please. I will not ask again."

"Back away from them!" came a commandingly welcomed voice.

All turned to see Killian and Draco standing side by side, glaring at the trio of wizards encountering Hermione and Luna.

In all the time they had known each other, Hermione had never been happier to see her reluctant Slytherin. He stood with a confident defiance Hermione did not dare believe she could present at the moment. While Phineas had commended her spirit, beyond her brazen facade, she was desperately she was attempting to bury her growing unease with these outsiders within the walls of Hogwarts. For reasons she could not fathom, there was something about them that struck fear in Hermione to a depth she had never before experienced. Perhaps it was their calm and collected confidence. Perhaps it was that, in appearance, they did not seem at all threatening. Perhaps it was because Hermione knew that, much like her own façade, their outer appearance was nothing more than a mask to hide what they were truly capable of doing.

"Ah, Killian," Phineas greeted with another warm, friendly smile.

"I imagine it's Mr. Dollus, yes?" Killian asked with a severe bite in his tone.

"Under the circumstances," Phineas answered.

Aeris offered a nod of acknowledgment that neither Killian nor Draco offered in return as Mr. Buckley, again, sighed with tempered frustration, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Needlessly complicated," he mumbled.

Killian rushed to Hermione and Luna, placing himself between them and the trio of unwelcomed guests.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Perfectly," Luna answered before Hermione could utter a sound. "Are they friends of yours?"

Disregarding Luna's question and charming innocence, Killian reached out. "The book," he whispered.

Luna handed the text to Killian, although seemingly disappointed she had to do so. As Killian went to turn back, however, Hermione grabbed him by the wrist.

"What is going on?" she whispered.

"You shouldn't have taken this," Killian whispered in return.

"It's just a book," Hermione argued. "You have a copy in your library."

"Things are different there," Killian explained, looking Hermione in the eyes and gently removing her hand from his wrist. "Hermione … please …"

Almost more fearful now that she had been before Killian arrived with Draco, Hermione released his arm and inched closer to Luna. Killian turned back to Aeris, Liam, and Phineas, tossing the copy of _Descending Magic_ at their feet. Upon impact, the aged tome's cover tore away, with pages spilling out in every direction.

"There," he said. "You have it. Take it and leave."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Liam said, replacing his glasses on his face as Phineas gather up the tattered pieces of _Descending Magic_ while mumbling whether it was entirely necessary to throw the book in the first place.

"I believe it is," Killian argued.

"Killian …" Liam said with a continued calm assertiveness, "… they will have to come with us."

"They're not going anywhere," Killian said, drawing his wand and directing at Liam, who stood in place, seemingly unfazed by the aggressive reaction.

"This is futile," Liam assured. "You know the—"

"You heard what he said," came Draco's voice as he, to Hermione's utter astonishment, walked over with his wand drawn and stood aside Killian. "Off with you."

"For the love of—" Liam said with another frustrated glance to the ceiling.

"Calm yourself, Liam," Phineas said, having gathered the last remaining pages, stuffing them within the book's cover and placing it within his robes. "They are standing their ground with principle … However skewed it may be. Take a moment to appreciate the beauty in it."

"However admirable," Liam argued, "it is an exercise in futility. Let us not reduce this beyond repair," he punctuated, addressing Killian and Draco directly.

"Phineas is right, Liam," Aeris said, her subtle smile still in place as she eyed the quartet of rebellious teens. "No need for anger."

Liam turned to Aeris with a look of disbelief. "I am not angry," he clarified. "I am irritated. There is a definable difference. And if you have not noticed, we are currently been drawn upon. Something I neither take lightly, nor, as you well know, do I normally tolerate. However," he went on, returning his focus towards Killian and Draco "enough is enough."

With a quick sweep of his walking stick, Killian and Draco's wands were wrenched form their grip with the ease of pulling a dandelion from the soil. As they arced through the air, where Aeris reached out and took them into her possession, Hermione noticed Liam's lapel pin sparkle in a manner not reflective of the light surrounding them in the corridor.

"And you as well," Liam continued with another calm sweep as Hermione and Luna found themselves disarmed before they had an opportunity to draw their wands.

Now in possession of their four wands, Aeris shook her head and raised an eyebrow to Liam as he straightened his clothes and returned to the calm proper stature he had previously displayed. "You're being a bully," she chastised, albeit with a soft sweetness.

"No," Liam corrected. "I am being thorough."

"A thorough bully," Phineas countered with a laugh.

"Nonetheless," Liam went on. "The immediate problem has been solved. Now, the two of you …" he gestured for the students to follow "… shall we?"

Luna took a casual step forward, seemingly willing to obey the command. Draco, to Hermione's continued surprise, held out his arm, disallowing her to continue.

"Perhaps it wasn't made clear enough," he said.

"Draco …" Aeris persuaded. "It's over."

Regardless of the realization that Liam's words rang true, their refusal being nothing more than an exercise in futility, neither Killian nor Draco relinquished. Their defiant stares and the silence that filled the corridor sent a shiver down Hermione's very spine.

His patience appearing to be at an end, Liam raised his walking stick when the sound of footsteps echoing off stone resonated around them.

"There they are," came an unfamiliar voice. "Always on duty. Commendable, yes?"

"Very," Professor Dumbledore responded. "However, I must say rounding up unsuspecting students seems beneath their skills. I would think they could be put to tasks of greater importance."

"As do I," the same voice agreed. "If only we had a say in such matters."

"If only," Dumbledore mused aloud.

From the darkness of the corridor, Professor Dumbledore came into view, walking alongside Professor Snape and a very short elderly man with wrinkles etched into his skin from a lifetimes of smiles, such as the one he currently wore. His wispy hair, where hair remained, was silvery grey and he walked with shuffle that reminded Hermione very much of Professor Flitwick.

"Liam," the odd little man said, "I believe you can let down your guard. It does not appear they are going anywhere."

"Something must be done," Liam said, although complying with the request.

"Something … Such a vague solution," the man said. "Something must always be done. What that something is and for what purpose that same something must to be done … Therein lies a bit more complexity."

"Might I introduce Duncan Kinelli," Professor Dumbledore said, presenting the man whom was accompanying him at the moment. "One of my dearest and oldest friends; in both time and age."

"Albus had told me wonderful things about all of you," Duncan said with the same warm and friendly smile Phineas has worn throughout their standoff. "He is very proud. However," he went on, "we do seem to have a bit of a … What is the words I'm looking for?"

"Dilemma?" Dumbledore offered.

"Yes, dilemma," Duncan agreed. "I do so dislike that term."

"As do I," Dumbledore said. "However often I am forced to endure it, it never really hits the ear quite right. A bit of a brackish feel to it, I think." Dumbledore put his hands on his hips and glanced around the area. "Might I suggest we continue this conversation elsewhere," he offered. "My office, I'm told, is wonderfully spacious and filled with incredible items that catch both the eye and interest."

"I would be most excited to see," Duncan said as he Professor Dumbledore led the way, leaving the area as quickly and abruptly as they had entered.

As the group began to follow, Killian turned to Hermione placing his forehead to hers and grasping her hands. "I'm so sorry," he whispered with a sincerity that masked his show of weakness. "For all of this."

"All of this what?" Hermione asked. "What's happening?"

"Just keep your mouth shut," Draco snipped. "Or it'll be all our heads."

Having remained silent throughout his presence, Professor Snape stepped in the path of Liam, Aeris, and Phineas. Liam's expression remained calmly agitated while, as before, Aeris and Phineas appeared almost amused.

"If you would be so kind as to return their wands," Snape said curtly. "They will be needing them for class."

"Are you so certain?" Liam asked.

"Their wands," Snape reiterated, curter than before.

"Of course," Aeris conceded before Liam could respond.

Aeris held out her hand and released the wands. They hovered in the air for a moment before returning to their rightful owners. Satisfied, Snape turned abruptly and followed along with Professor Dumbledore and Duncan with the remainder of the corridor's occupants close behind.

. . .

Spacious as Professor Dumbledore claimed, Hermione found the office suffocating under the current circumstances. Professor Snape was off in one area conversing with his Slytherins. Another section found Duncan Kinelli speaking with Liam, Aeris, and Phineas. At the same time, Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk, stroking his beard as Hermione and Luna sat before him awaiting his displeasure.

"It is quite a fire you've stoked," he said. "Although I imagine you've already worked that out for yourselves."

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "Who are they?"

"They're Watchers," Luna answered simply.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Watchers."

"What is a Watcher?" Hermione asked on. "Why are they here?"

Dumbledore leaned in, looking down upon Hermione through his crescent moon shaped spectacles. "I believe there are more important things to discuss, Miss Granger." He folded his hands and took a breath, glancing over Hermione's shoulder towards Duncan and his fellow Watchers. "Thievery, as you are aware, is not tolerated here at Hogwarts."

"Thievery?" Hermione asked, feeling as though a cold vise had squeezed the air from her lungs.

"All books within the Restricted Section of the library require written permission from a member of the faculty in order for them to be removed from their rightful place," Dumbledore went on. "Am I correct to believe this is still the current policy?"

"Yes," Hermione answered through the lump rising in her throat.

Dumbledore extended his good hand. "Your note, if you please …"

Hermione stared at Dumbledore's open hand, realizing she had neither a note of permission nor a reasonable explanation for her actions.

"I …" she began hesitantly. "I don't have one."

"I, like the others in this room, were made aware of that very fact the moment you stepped through the library doors," Dumbledore concluded. "A clever charm placed on the text to prevent its removal. Now, I must ask," he went on, "has it occurred to you that policies are put in to place for good reason? That items and areas are restricted for a purpose beyond fanciful desires for empowering control?"

Thoughts of Delores Umbridge's Educational Decrees came immediately to Hermione's mind, but luckily, did not reach her lips. Instead, she chose to remain silent, awaiting to impending tongue lashing and punitive actions to follow.

"There is a Muggle aphorism involving the deaths of inquisitive felines," Dumbledore went on, sitting back in his chair, contemplatively stroking his beard once again. "Not one of my favorite adages, but one that holds a certain merit. Imagine, however, if you will, said curiosity damaged not the cats, but those whom the cats held dear to them."

"That's not a very thoughtful cat," Luna said, cocking her head and pursing her lips. "Although I've never believed cats to be very thoughtful."

"Sometimes they can be," Dumbledore pointed out. "If they so choose." It was now clear to Hermione that Dumbledore was addressing her directly. "Some paths are simply meant to be less travelled. For a time, perhaps. Sometimes forever. Particularly when the damage the traveler inflicts outweigh the answers they seek. Gravely outweighs, I'm afraid. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione answered meekly, feeling like a child who had been sent to a corner to think about what she had done. However, against her better judgement, she had one more inquiry of her Headmaster. "If I may ask, though," she began. "If the book is … whatever it is, why is it here in the first place?"

Dumbledore smiled. Either out of pride for her persistence or annoyance with the same.

"As with many things within these walls," he answered, "the book is not here. It never was."

The eyes of the silver-haired headmaster spoke volumes. Whatever it was or was not, was irrelevant. Hermione had no notion of what she had done aside from taking a restricted book without permission. However, for the first time in her life, she desired no further explanation. With an inconspicuous glance towards Killian, she realized that her fear of the potential consequences should she continue to pursue the matter, the harm she could cause, what she could lose, and whom she could lose far outweighed any answers she sought to find.

"It appears we have things settled," Duncan announced, parting with his group and turning towards Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape met Duncan in the center of the room as Hermione and Luna left their place by the desk and joined Killian and Draco.

"I'm happy to hear," Dumbledore said. "As, if I am correct, I am happy to hear congratulations are in order," he said to Aeris with a bow of his head.

"Thank you, Albus," Aeris said with a smile and nod in return.

Dumbledore turned to Liam, extending his hand. "No doubt, Bailey and Ariel are excited."

Liam shook Dumbledore's hand, his proper expression never faltering. "You must understand why this happened," he said, clearly ignoring Dumbledore's attempt at niceties. "The peace is fragile. Especially now. Caution is of the upmost importance."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "Determination and due diligence. Else one might find themselves surprised when they discover their friends have become their foes."

"No truer words have been spoken," Phineas offered with a rosy grin.

The trio of Watchers made their way to the door, pausing by Hermione, Killian, Draco, and Luna.

"I imagine we will see each other again," Liam said to Hermione.

"Not if you're lucky."

The words reached her tongue faster than her mind could process the ramifications. The result was a laugh from Phineas and another a grin and narrowing of the eyes from Aeris.

"She's starting to sound just like him," Aeris said.

"Yes," Liam reluctantly agreed with a sigh. "I'm certain he is a wonderful influence."

With that, the three left the office as Duncan, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape offered their own farewells. Although Dumbledore and Duncan shared an odd embrace, due for the most part to their significant difference in height, Snape appeared less cordial, issuing little more than a nod. As Duncan stepped back, now shaking Dumbledore's hand, he paused a moment and gave the darkened withered skin the appendage a glance. In reality, it was the first time Hermione had really gotten an opportunity to get a good look at it as well. From a distance, it was clear there was something wrong. Now seeing it within only a few feet and right out in open, it was more than worthy of the look of concern Dumbledore received from Duncan.

"I do hope I will see you again soon, old friend," he said.

"Hope," Dumbledore mused. "Endlessly fleeting, yet forever within our grasp."

Without another word, the two parted ways and Duncan left the room. Immediately, Dumbledore turned his attention to Hermione, Killian, Draco, and Luna.

"If there is nothing, else," he said, "I would like to have a word with Professor Snape."

Snape looked to Draco. "Is there anything else?"

Draco stared down the head of his House, saying nothing in return. Harry had mentioned the animosity Draco appeared to be showing towards his mentor. Until now, she had not witnessed it for herself. It was no different than that mountains of other speculations Harry had thrown about throughout the year. The tension in their glares as they stood there, however, indicated beyond doubt that something had happened in their relationship. That much, it seemed, Harry had gotten correct.

"Very well," Dumbledore concluded. "Off to your respective houses. I believe it does not need to be said that I expect no delays."

Together, Hermione and her classmates left Professor Dumbledore's office. Once they reached the base of the winding staircase and exited into the hall beyond, they paused, breathing a collective sigh of relief.

"That wasn't nearly as bad as—Oh my …" Luna began before being distracted as Hermione threw her arms around Killian, embracing him with fervor as she buried her head into his shoulder.

His arms wrapped around her with a tender security as his breath trickled down the back of her neck. Neither the sound of Draco's scoff nor the stomping his footsteps as he stormed away dissuaded her emotions. She did not care. All she needed was to feel Killian's warmth, entwined with their unspoken thoughts and feelings in a manner she shared with no other.

Holding on for all it was worth, neither would relinquish the other, grasping at that fleeting hope, refusing to allow for it to falter, against whatever obstacles the world would mount. Nothing would separate them. Not even Luna's pleasant persuasion, reminding them of Professor Dumbledore's very specific instructions, could distract them from the moment. They were together. They were safe. No one else could possibly understand how little anything else mattered.


	13. Chapter 13 - The Croniker of Life

_Another post is up and ready to go. And it's only Monday. Granted, it has been over a week since the last post, and I'd actually hoped this would be ready and posted last Friday. However, in a world of misfires, broken trust, and counter-productivity, one must find the silver linings wherever they may lay._

 _I wish I had something better to say, something clever, some form of playful banter, but ... Well, I just don't :/_

 _Enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Thirteen -_

 _The Croniker of Life_

 _Destination …_ Hermione thought … _Determination …_ she closed her eyes … _Deliberation!_

And then it happened. It was nothing short of unspectacular, no great distance, no wild overwhelming sensation. She simply was standing in place one moment and standing a fraction of a step closer to her intended target within the wooden hoop on the floor the next. The standard tugging sensation of which she had grown accustomed was present and her toes and fingertips tingled, but little else made it feel like any great accomplishment. Hermione did, however, make note of the absence of any sensation of being pressed through water.

Sadly, no one noticed Hermione's accomplishment. Everyone's eyes were focused on Susan Bones, or what became of Susan Bones, as her legs had not quite kept up with her body during her attempt at Disapparation. With murmurs and gasps filling the Great Hall as the four Head of House worked diligently to reintroduce Susan Bone's upper half to her lower, Hermione remained focused. In her years at Hogwarts, she had seen far worse than a student being divided, literally or figuratively.

No, Hermione remained in place, concentrating, determine to conquer this obstacle. And she had. Again, it was scarcely a blink from where she had started, but she had Disapparated. And no one had any idea.

After Wilkie Twycross, the Ministry's Apparition instructor, dismissed the class and exited the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall, Hermione gave chase at a quickened pace, although taking a quick moment to toss a bitter barb at Ron along the way.

Up the stairs around the corner from the Great Hall, Hermione finally caught up with her Head of House and the Ministry's instructor.

"Excuse me," she called to them.

Professor McGonagall and Twycross turned to her, his wispy hair fluttering in the slight breeze that rustled through the hall.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall welcomed pleasantly.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," Hermione said to Twycross after acknowledging McGonagall's greeting. "But if you wouldn't mind, I had a few que—"

"There will be another lesson in the upcoming weekend," Twycross explained dismissively before Hermione could finish her thought. "Please save you inquiries until such time."

"Come now, Wilke," Professor McGonagall challenged. "Certainly there is no harm in taking a moment. Hermione is one of the brightest witches in her class."

"Is she?" Twycross asked with a roll of his eyes, his pale skin and near transparent eyebrows looking particularly eerie in the light reflecting off a mirror along the wall.

"Perhaps in the entire school," McGonagall went on glowingly.

"Ah, Minerva," Twycross said with a laugh. "I can only assume yourself excluded, am I correct?"

"Obviously," McGonagall agreed.

"Very well," Twycross permitted. "On with your delving."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I actually did it," she began. "I mean, I was not entirely successful, But I managed to cover a short distance."

"Did you?" Twycross asked with doubt. Although, the fact that Susan Bones' Splinching seemed to be the closest thing to success among her classmates, his doubt was quite valid.

"Yes," Hermione answered proudly. "And I felt the pressure in my stomach, along with the pulling sensation. But I was curious …" She paused a moment before continuing. "Are there any other sensations that can be attributed to Apparition?"

"How do you mean?" Twycross asked.

"Well," Hermione went on, "are there any other feelings? Like a sense of being pressed through water?"

Twycross and Professor McGonagall looked at each other. Their expressions, a unusual mixture of concern and confusion, indicated immediately that such a question was neither expected nor welcomed.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Twycross asked, his thin pellucid eyebrow raised. "Did you experience such a sensation?"

"No," Hermione quickly clarified. "Not at all."

"This was your first experience with Apparition?" Twycross inquired further.

"Of course," Hermione answered as if it was the question might have been rhetorical. "Except for a Side-Along," she added, glancing towards Professor McGonagall.

Twycross looked to McGonagall, whom appeared almost insulted.

"I can assure you Miss Granger felt no such sensation with me," she asserted.

It was unclear whether or not the Ministry's instructor believed Professor McGonagall. This caused a pinch of guilt to arise within Hermione, as any suspicion surrounding her question should in no way involve her Head of House. Still, she kept quiet so as not to raise any further incertitude.

"Such a sensation can occur," Twycross finally explained. "However, it is important to know that should one feel said sensation, it should be reported immediately." This explanation invited concerns of her own in Hermione. "What this indicates is that the person performing the Apparition is doing so in a reckless manner, potentially causing great harm to themselves as well as any person brought along. I trust you understand," he punctuated, leaning towards Hermione.

"Not entirely," Hermione admitted.

"I am quite certain you do," Twycross disagreed. "Professor McGonagall," he went on, dismissing his attention from Hermione, "a word, if you please."

"Was that all, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked Hermione.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione answered. It was not all. Not in the least. However, Hermione knew better than to delve any deeper.

"Off you go then," McGonagall said, shooing Hermione away with wave of her hand before she and Twycross continued down the corridor.

Hermione turned and began towards Gryffindor Tower. A number of questions had arisen from her initial inquiry. Why had both Wilke Twycross and Professor McGonagall reacted so strangely to a question about a sensation when Apparating? If the sensation indicated such a dangerous error in execution, why was it not mentioned during their lesson? Aside from Splinching, no danger had been mentioned at all.

As it was highly unlikely Apparition presented no dangers other than Splinching alone, Hermione did not put any considerable amount of concern into it. Perhaps these other dangers were purposefully left out of the lesson to reduce the anxiety the students would, no doubt, be riddled with should they know of them. It made sense. It seemed extraordinarily irresponsible as far as Hermione was concerned, but as Hogwarts goes, it was not entirely out of the ordinary. Still though, Killian knowing doing something that could be so severely dangerous? With her? Then again, perhaps that was not entirely out of the ordinary either.

When Hermione reached her common room, she went right up the spiraling staircase towards the girl's dormitory to retrieve a book. Some quiet reading, blanketed by the warmth of the fire burning in the common room's hearth, seemed like the perfect way to spend the next few hours. Harry and Ron were in the boy's dormitory at the moment, no doubt speaking of Draco and his cohorts, so she had no worry in regards to being interrupted.

As she rummaged through her belongings, seeking a copy of Jane Austin's _Emma_ –not typically her genre, but she was in the mood for something less textbook—Hermione was startled when she felt a tiny hand tug at her shirt. Spinning around and gasping, she saw Crimna standing there as timidly reserved as always.

"Sorry, Crimna," Hermione said. "I didn't hear you."

"No sorries," Crimna said. "Has letters for student," she went on, reaching into her rags and removing a folded piece of parchment. "Is secrets."

Crimna raised a finger to her lips. Hermione took the letter and returned the gesture. It had become a sort of routine, giving the act of sneaking letters back and forth more of a childish fun feel to it. If nothing else, it appeared as though Crimna enjoyed their little signal. Just prior to her disappearing with a snap, the closest thing to a smile the reticent little elf had ever expressed washed over her face.

Hermione sat upon her bed and quickly unfolded the missive.

 _Meet me at midnight by the One-Eyed Witch … That is, of course, unless you're too busy …_

 _\- K_

 _Too busy_ , Hermione thought. When was she not too busy? Still, she knew this was just a little jab meant to tease. And no matter her workload, Hermione would find a way to manage her time appropriately enough for a late night stroll through the castle. One must prioritize, after all.

. . .

"Hurry up," Killian called after Hermione.

"It's a bit difficult to move quickly and quietly at the same time," Hermione said as she followed Killian though the darkened passages of Hogwarts.

After meeting Killian at the intended location, Hermione found herself sneaking off from one area of the castle to another, gathering up items with no recognizable connection. It was clear Killian was planning something, although what would occur upon the completion of this nocturnal scavenger hunt was beyond assumption.

"What are we doing?" Hermione asked.

"Currently," Killian answered, "we are heading to the Potions storeroom."

"I understand that," Hermione said. "But why?"

"Because we need more ingredients," Killian answered simply.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was looking for a more specific answer and knew that Killian was aware of this fact. Instead of answering outright, he had been purposefully cryptic in regards to each of their stops along the way and, as such, Hermione's curiosity was ready to burst. Still, she let it go for the moment. If for no other reason, she wished to remain quiet so as not to be discovered.

When they reached the storeroom, Killian, as he had done before, opened the door with a quick flick of his wand. He and Hermione quickly slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Now able to speak more freely, Hermione grabbed Killian by the arm.

"Are you going to explain any of this?" she asked.

"That would ruin the surprise," Killian answered with a grin. "Now see if please help me find a vial of dragon blood."

"Dragon blood?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Killian answered simply. "Vitally important."

They had already rummaged through the Charms and Runes classrooms, where Killian pilfered peppered ash and trungol roots and scribbled notes from various textbooks. Now they were in the potions closet looking for dragon blood.

This was now the second time Hermione would be stealing from Professor Snape's stores. Although now several years older than she was during her first infraction, the fear of being caught by the brooding and ominous sorcerer boiled her adrenaline as she quickly ran her fingers across each label, eager to leave the area and move on to whatever place Killian had planned for them next.

"I don't see any," Hermione said.

"Nor do I," Killian concurred. "This could be a problem." Still searching, he rubbed his chin, pondering as he stared at the dusty cluttered shelves in the storeroom. He then looked at Hermione. "What are your thoughts on breaking into another classroom?"

"I think it could get us expelled," Hermione answered simply.

"Come with me anyway?" Killian urged with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione folded her arms and feigned insult that Killian actually believed she would knowing put herself in a position for expulsion simply because of his charming smile and gazing expression. The act was for show, of course, as they had already done exactly what Killian was proposing several times that night. But beyond her fear and growing anxiety, Hermione was also feeling oddly flirtatious. At the moment, it was this uncharacteristic side of her person that was winning out.

"When have I ever said no to you?"

"When have I ever given you reason?" Killian said back.

 _Damn him and that grin!_ Hermione thought as Killian stepped by her, checking the hall to ensure no one was about. Opening the door slightly and glancing up and down the Tapestry Corridor, Killian took Hermione by the hand and, together, they made their way towards Hogwarts' dungeons.

Quietly snaking through the bowels of the school, Killian and Hermione finally arrived at the Potions classroom. Now absent of the dark and cold atmosphere that choked the air when Professor Snape called this area home, the room seemed more neat, tidy, and almost cheerful with its new tenant in Professor Slughorn.

Closing the door and searching by the light radiating from the end of their wands, Hermione and Killian continued their search for the elusive dragon blood.

"There must be some here," Killian thought aloud. "I remember having used it for an elixir yesterday."

"Maybe that was the last of it," Hermione offered.

"Nonsense," Killian dismissed, his eyes squinting as he scanned the shelves. "It was a rather large ampoule." With a snap of his fingers, he reached for an oversized phial containing a dark viscous substance. "Like this one."

Taking the phial, he went to one of the long wooden tables in the room. He then removed a crystal orb they had obtained from the Runes classroom and the incantation he had scribbled down in the Charm classroom. Placing them on the table, along with the dragon blood, peppered ash, and trungol root, he drew his wand across the orb.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Patience," Killian answered with a grin.

Tapping the top of the crystal orb with his wand, a small circular area open. Killian then poured a portion of the dragon blood into a stone mortar, using a pestle to grind and combine it with the peppered ash and trungol root. Once thoroughly amalgamated, Killian poured the mixture into the crystal orb via the hole in the top.

Next, he held his wand aloft, almost as if reaching out. To Hermione's shock, in a flickering flash, like light reflecting off a rippling pond, Killian's wand became a brilliant silver dagger with a handle wrapped in ebony leather. Hermione has never seen any magic of its kind. It was as if he simply pulled the blade from the air.

Normally, when Killian performed magic of extraordinary skill, Hermione buried any show of being impressed. It was their game. Downplay, dismiss, and challenge for more. This time, however, it was beyond her ability to stifle her instinctual reaction.

"How did you do that?" she asked, her eyes wide, her mouth agape.

"Magic?" Killian answered cautiously, as if he was not entirely certain what Hermione was asking.

"Obviously," Hermione drawled with a slap to Killian's shoulder. "But you just transfigured your wand. I didn't think that was possible."

"It's not," Killian said. "That's not what I did."

"Then what manner of magic was it?" Hermione pressed.

Killian grinned. "Mine," he said, drawing the blade across his hand, carving deep enough into the skin to cause a stream of blood to cascade across the knuckles of his now clenched fist.

"Killian—" Hermione said.

"Patience," Killian assured again.

With a manner of calm and simplicity that directly contradicted what he had just done, he directed his flowing blood through the hole in the top of the crystal orb. As it entered, Hermione was taken aback once again as it stopped halfway down, hovering above an invisible barrier between it and the dragon blood brew below.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked.

"Dragon blood, when combined with peppered ash and trungol root, cannot mix with human blood," Killian explained. "Not living human blood, that is. Like oil and water … Only more so."

When the amount of Killian's blood matched the amount of dragon blood in the orb, Killian pulled his hand away. With a flick of his hand, the silver dagger became his wand once again. Drawing the wand across his hand much in the same way he had just done with the blade, Killian closed the fresh wound.

Now remedied, he tapped the top of the orb, sealing the sphere and imprisoning both Killian's blood and the dragon blood mixture securely within. Reaching into his pocket to remove the folded parchment he had used to scribble notes from the texts in the Charms classroom, Killian straightened up and took a deep breath.

"All right then," he said, swirling his wand above the crystal orb. "Brú, tarraingt, riamh comhcheangal. Go beatha bás, go deo roinn."

A moment later, Killian's blood fell. As it did, the dragon blood parted, sliding up the side of the crystal orb, only to fall and push Killian's blood aside in the same manner. This hypnotic cycle continued over and over in repetition.

"There," Killian said, stretching back and flexing his shoulder blades as if he had just been through a rigorous exercise.

"There what?" Hermione asked. "What did you do? What is that thing?"

"It's a Croniker of Life," Killian explained. "So long as I live, the two bloods will continue to push each other aside. …" He took the orb and handed it to Hermione. "Now you'll always know that I'm safe."

Hermione looked at the Croniker of Life. It was mesmerizing, the liquids within remaining in constant motion, pushing and pulling at each other.

"I've never heard of such a thing?" Hermione said, staring in awe at the magical item in her hands.

"You wouldn't have," Killian said.

"How did you learn this," Hermione asked.

"From that book," Killian answered. "The one they took from you." His expression was almost regretful, as if there were more words on the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to say them … Or feared what might happen if he did. "Hermione—"

"It's all right, Killian," Hermione assured, placing a finger to Killian's lips. She immediately felt silly for such a dramatic silencing, but Professor Dumbledore's seemingly arbitrary comments about curiosity and cats rang through her mind. "Although, this doesn't get you out of everything, you know," she added with a smile.

"I'm quite aware," Killian said, grasping Hermione's hand and kissing her gently across her fingers. "It's just a measure of security." He then led her to the door, opening it a crack to ensure the area was clear of any wandering Prefects or professors. "Congratulations, by the way," he went on before they entered the hall.

"Congratulations for what?" Hermione asked.

"You've become quite good at this," Killian began.

"Good at …?" Hermione led.

"Mischief," Killian answered with a grin.

Hermione pushed Killian aside with a laugh. She knew it to be true. But was it really so far outside her nature? A few years ago, maybe. But it certainly did not seem such a stretch of the imagination any longer.

Perhaps there was more to her nature than she knew. Or perhaps she was spending too much time with an individual of that nature. Either way, Hermione did not care. As long as Killian was there, as long as he was safe … The former would never be to Hermione's satisfaction. But at least she now had a measure of indication with regards to the latter. And that was more than she had ever had before.


	14. Chapter 14 - Broken Trust

_Not quite so long this time. Managed to get two out in the same week. I guess that makes up for not getting one out at all last week. A bit shorter than some of the previous ones, but I didn't really want to drag it out. It's more of a to the point posting. And ... yeah ... Anyways, I hope you enjoy!_

 _\- Chapter Eight -_

 _Broken Trust_

"I believed you!" Hermione shouted as she beat Killian across the chest in a secluded corner of the Hogwarts dungeons. "I trusted you!"

"What are you talking about?" Killian asked, grasping Hermione across the wrists to restrain her assault. "What's happened?"

"He could have died!" she shouted, uncaring as to who might hear.

"Died?" Killian asked on, just as perplexed as he had been when Hermione stormed into the dungeons and began her tirade. "Who?"

"Ron!" Hermione answered, pulling free from a stunned Killian and continuing to beat her fists against him.

"What … I …" Killian began, but stumbled over his words. "What happened to Ron?"

"Stop lying to me!" Hermione cried accusingly, her eyes welling. "The poisoned mead from Professor Slughorn's office! The bottle that was supposed to go to Dumbledore! I know you know where it came from!"

"Hermione, I swear to you—" Killian tried to explain.

"Just stop!" Hermione cut in as she stepped away from Killian and wiped her eyes. "You have some secret meeting in Hogsmeade the day Katie Bell is cursed, your family is affiliated with Death Eaters, these Watchers show up and suddenly there's poisoned mead—"

"Watchers?" Killian asked, each word escaping his mouth expressing more confusion than the last. "The Watchers would never—"

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid!" Hermione cried. Although she was no longer certain of any validity contained within her accusations, she could not control the avalanche of rage that had taken over her consciousness. "Something is happening and I know you're involved! You have to be! This can't just be …" Her words lodged in her throat, suffocating her as tempests of heartache, anger, and fear fought their way to the surface all at once. "I can't … I just … I can't do this anymore."

"Hermione …" Killian pleaded with no real direction in mind, "please …"

"Breaking up, are we?" Draco offered with a cocky sneer as he came upon Hermione and Killian. "Pity."

Neither had heard Draco approach, but Hermione's eyes were like daggers upon him. Seemingly unaffected, Draco glared back, his smirk far more infuriating than Killian's had ever been.

"Do you have a minute?" Draco asked Killian, turning his back to Hermione as he stepped between them.

"No," Killian answered immediately. "I absolutely do not."

"I need to speak with you," Draco insisted as Hermione fumed behind him.

"It will have to wait."

"It's important," Draco kept on.

"Just go!" Hermione shouted before Killian could argue further. "We're done here," she added, clenching her jaw to check her emotions as her entire world fell to pieces.

"You see?" Draco grinned deviously. "She's done with you. Come on."

Draco headed back towards the Slytherin House, pulling at Killian's sleeve. Killian resisted for a moment, his lost eyes locked on Hermione, who could do nothing more than stare back, wrestling fury and agony. Hermione then turned and walked out of the dungeons without a word.

. . .

That night, Hermione found herself, along with Harry and the Weasleys, in the hospital wing listening to Ron as he moaned and whined in his bed. Harry was pressing his case for Draco's involvement while Mrs. Weasley worried on. Mr. Weasley, trying to remain as cheery as possible, made a point of stating how lucky Ron was to have entered Harry's compartment on the train their first year at school. Everyone seemed to be angry, sad, confused, or any combination of the three. Everyone, that is, except for the Fred and George. The twins had a knack for finding humor in everything. This situation was no different.

The twins had arrived about an hour after their parents, who were meeting with Professor Dumbledore at the time. After a brief conversation summarizing the night's events and admitting that this was not exactly how they pictured giving Ron his birthday gift, the conversations became much lighter.

Hermione could not begin to contemplate how Fred and George could be so easygoing with their younger brother barely conscious before them. Thinking that some space might do her good, she finally got up and left the room, hoping the open air in the halls would clear her head. She was not alone for long, however, as Fred and George followed close behind.

"You all right, Hermione?" Fred asked as Hermione stared blankly out of one of the tall narrow windows that lined the hall.

George smiled. "It's just Ron, you know. He'll be fine."

"Not a lot of brain to damage there," Fred added.

"It's not Ron ..." Hermione sighed, her eyes already beginning to sting. "I mean it is Ron, but it's not. It's just … I don't know what it is."

"Finn said you were taking this pretty hard," Fred offered.

"You saw Killian?" Hermione asked, her hearted jumping for a moment before being filled with a sickening pressure.

"Yeah," Fred answered. "Just before we got up here."

"What did he say?" Hermione asked on.

"Asked about Ron," Fred answered. "Wanted to know if he was fit and all."

"Seemed more concerned about you, though," George added. "Big surprise there, right?"

"Oh yeah," Fred agreed with a broad grin. "Huge bloody surprise."

"Something going on?" George asked. "He seemed a bit—What would you say he was, Fred?"

"Edgy?"

"No …"

"Distant?"

"Maybe," George pondered aloud. "More distant than edgy, but still … What did he have to say about all of this? I imagine he's heard by now."

Hermione broke down, instinctively burying her head in George's chest to hide her tears. After an awkward moment's pause, George even more awkwardly put his arms around Hermione in his best effort to comfort her while exchanging perplexed looks with Fred.

"What's, uh …" he started, looking to Fred for some sort of advice, but getting nothing more than a confused shrug. "What's got you up in a twist … exactly?"

"Everything," Hermione answered, trying not to sob, but failing miserably.

"Well …" George went on, scratching his head and looking to Fred a second time for any direction he could offer, "... everything's a lot of things. Anything in particular?"

"I don't know," Hermione went on. "I don't know anything anymore."

"It's all right," Fred said, in a failed attempt at reassurance. "I mean … I guess it's not _actually_ all right … But it will be, right?" he added.

"Yeah, sure," George agreed with a serious lack of conviction. "Of course it will. Whatever it is, it'll be fine."

Hermione smiled at the remark and straightened up, wiping her eyes. Then, noticing how uncomfortable Fred and George looked, she burst out laughing. This sudden moment of levity, shattering the previous moment's tension, placed the twins back within their element.

"See?" Fred said with a smile. "Better already."

"I know I feel better," George added as Hermione slapped him on the shoulder.

After taking a few deep breaths to settle down, Hermione, Fred, and George made their way back into the room to visit with Ron. She was sure he would be still be less than completely conscious, whining, and carrying on. Still, she knew that she should be there. Why, exactly, she did not know. She would rather be with someone else, but that was simply not an option at the moment.

. . .

After several hours of sitting at Ron's bedside, listening to the adults banter back and forth about any number of things, both important and mundane, Hermione finally decided to head back her dormitory. Trudging along, she crossed through the Gryffindor common room, devoid of any students at the late hour, and slowly wound her way up the spiraling staircase towards her bed.

Once in the room, she saw that all of her housemates were already fast asleep. This was not really a surprise. Although there was, no doubt, talk of what happened to Ron echoing throughout the school earlier, there were few who were going to lose any sleep over it. After all, it was not long ago Katie Bell was cursed. Prior to that there had been countless other events within the school that left a student injured in one manner or another. For most within the walls of Hogwarts, this was just another event. The gossip would continue in the morning, but for the night, the voices were silent.

Not feeling up to changing into her night clothes, Hermione fell into her bed, clutching her pillow and pressing her eyes shut. How often she had wished for a Time Turner since she was introduced to the wondrous magical device during her third year. There were so many things she would have gone back to relive, gone back to change. She could do something different, say something different, prevent … Prevent occurrences she would forever regret. Occurrences that should not have been. Occurrences that would not have been had she only taken a moment to breathe.

Opening her eyes, with her head still resting on the pillow she held in her arms, she saw her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. She had carried that copy since the moment she discovered she had been accepted as a student by the hallowed institute she now resided within. It was one of her most precious possessions, one she often went to for both information as well as comfort. In recent years, it had also served another purpose.

Hermione sat up and grabbed her tome, placing it in her lap. Flipping through the first several pages, she came across a pressed foxglove. Killian had Conjured it for her earlier in the year near the covered bridge. He was being charming and silly and sweet. The flower's fragrance has since faded, its petals dried and preserved, but the memory remained.

A few pages further she found another flower. One of paper. This flower, like its organic twin, that had been pressed flat and hidden away. On one of the petals, Hermione could still make out the inked message.

 _Hope you're feeling all right_

 _\- K_

It was such a simple and innocent charm performed for both the purpose of impressing her while at the same time apologizing without actually saying the words. Although she never acknowledged she was impressed, she accepted Killian's apology … Prior to raining her fury down upon him in the Room of Requirement. Another regret she could never take back.

Towards the end of the book, Hermione came across a third flower; or what was once a flower. The soaking wet paper did not hold its form under the pressure of the pages pressing down upon it. Now it looked more like a twisted piece of paper that had been left in the rain, stomped upon, and left to dry in the sun.

Still, it had once been a flower. And before that, a rain-soaked bird tapping on her window. It was not a silly token or an apology. It was a messenger. It was Killian calling to her, allowing Hermione to see a side of him no one else was allowed to see, to have a part of him no one else could ever have. The mash of dried pulp pressed before Hermione represented them, unrecognizably perfect in ways only they could understand.

Perfect …

And gone …

Why had she done it? Why did she storm down to the dungeons seeking Killian? Seeking to find him, seeking to hurt him, seeking to punish him? From the instant she heard of Ron's poisoning, the moment she heard of the tainted mead, it was as if a fire erupted within her. She was so angry. Beyond angry. Beyond anything she had ever felt.

Killian had said something to her the night they held each other in the pouring rain at the base of Gryffindor tower. It was a confession, a fear. He told her he thought he had ruined her.

He had introduced her to an element of magic she had never experienced. Passion and control. He explained how the counterbalance can amplify a wizard's power, augmenting their attacks beyond imagination. But, he also warned her of the dangers and devastating effects when one cannot control their passion once it has been unleased.

She experienced, first-hand, the result of unbounded passion. She left scars upon Killian, scars upon herself, scars that faded but never truly disappeared.

Ever since that night, Hermione felt her life had become a constant ebb and flow of happiness and sadness, bravery and fear, confidence and doubt. Each high was euphoric, while each low seemed insurmountable. Worse, she was finding more and more how little control she had over herself when these waves of emotion swept over her.

Her altercation with Killian in the dungeons could be no better an example. It fell out of hand so fast. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself fully entrenched, begging herself to retreat, but having now idea how to do so. Her words, her mind, and her heart all contradicted each other, even as Killian looked upon her with the eyes of someone completely lost and looking for a way back down a path he neither knew he was on nor how to traverse.

The image of Killian's face, pained and confused as she shouted at him, beat upon him, and cast him off. How could she have done that? Why?

Perhaps Killian was right. Perhaps his fears were justified. Perhaps she was ruined after all … Damaged and broken.

Wishing nothing more than for Killian to be there beside her as she gently slid that stubbornly errant lock of her hair errant away from her eyes and placed it behind her ear, Hermione lay her head back down upon her pillow and quietly wept. The morning could not come soon enough, and as such, the night would go on forever.


	15. Chapter 15 - Stolen Moments

_Terrible apologizes for the length of time between the last post and the current one. I have been extraordinarily busy moving into a new apartment. As much as I had prioritizing when it comes to writing ... well ... I had to prioritize. On top of that, I was wrestling with the chapter the entire time as well, unsure of whether I wanted the points held within to be separate chapters of their own or written together in one chapter as a montage of moments. I finally chose the latter, as it seemed to keep the story moving without a lot of boring filler for the sake of word length. As they say, it's not how many words you use, it's how you use them. I hope I have used them well._

 _But I digress ... Of note, as with several previous chapters, a portion of the dialogue was taken directly from JK Rowling's Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. I do not own, I simply borrow. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Fifteen -_

 _Stolen Moments_

"I love you, Hermione," Ron said as he sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with a sigh while Harry continued to thumb through his Advanced Potions textbook.

Hermione paused, the unexpected words catching her off guard and striking her with a searing sting she fought to hide. "Don't let Lavender hear you say that," she dismissed, continuing to focus on correcting the numerous spelling errors in Ron's essay.

Hermione knew Ron's comment was meant casually, with no harm intended. Still, it was the first time Hermione had ever heard anyone say those particular words to her outside of family. As silly and trivial as it seemed, it was a moment that should have meant something. And while Hermione did not blame Ron for tainting such a thing, with everything that had been going on of late, it was just another blow in a battle in which Hermione wished to surrender.

It had been weeks since Ron had been poisoned and Hermione lashed out at Killian. In that time, Hermione had done what she could to keep herself busy. Not that such a thing was ever an issue with friends like Harry and Ron.

Currently, she was correcting the errors in Ron's essay. Errors that, according to him, were due the charm on the spell-checking quill he had purchased from Fred and George wearing off. Hermione thought it far more likely they had switched it out with a joke quill, as evidenced by the ridiculous nature of the misspellings contained within the essay.

But all of her work was undone within twenty minutes. For just as she finished the corrections, Kreacher and Dobby Apparated with a snap, startling the trio. Hermione shrieked, Harry shouted, and Ron spilled an entire inkwell on the finished essay. What followed, turned Hermione's stomach further.

Much to her irritation, she learned that Harry had tasked Kreacher and Dobby to follow Draco and report back to him on anything of interest. The assignment by itself was bad enough. What the two house elves had recently discovered, however, made it even worse.

It appeared Draco had been making use of the Room of Requirement. It was becoming more and more difficult for Hermione to dismiss the growing evidence. It was no longer just a series of seemingly coincidental occurrences here and there being intertwined with conjecture. Draco was up to something.

Even as she dismissed Harry's assumption that the pallid Slytherin had convinced his housemates to follow him by simple flashing the Dark Mark, a mark that had not even yet been confirmed to exist, Hermione knew she could deny it no longer. And if she could no longer deny Draco's activities, what did that say of Killian?

The thought sent a shockwave of sickening sensations throughout Hermione's body. Reminding Harry that his primary concern should be help Professor Dumbledore retrieve the true version of Professor Slughorn's altered memory, she bid Harry and Ron goodnight and climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

It was more than she could bear. It was an acceptance she had to make, but her heart simply would not allow for it. She could see his face in her mind, his eyes, his smile; the kindness and caring. However, she also very well remembered the things he had done, things making him more than capable of the most unspeakable acts. Still … He was hers … It could not be true.

"Everything all right?" Parvati asked as she readied herself for bed.

"Of course," Hermione answered, not realizing Parvati had even entered the room. "Why do you ask?"

"You were staring," Parvati began. "Then you struck your pillow several times before hugging it and staring some more. Seemed a bit off to me, no?"

"Right," Hermione agreed with a weak smile, realizing she was currently clutching her pillow with a viselike grip.

"Crimna was here a bit ago," Parvati went on as she glanced in the mirror and ran a brush through her hair. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to say anything, but I think she left something for you."

"Left something?" Hermione asked.

"Under your pillow," Parvati said. "Don't say I told you though. It seemed as though she was trying to be discrete. She's not very. Discrete, I mean."

Hermione reached under her pillow and felt several folded and crumpled pieces of parchment. Grasping carefully and pulling them out, she saw that they appeared to be letters; or drafts of letters. One of the parchments was less damaged than the others, messily folded and scribbled in a hand that was barely legible. Seeing that Parvati was still busy getting ready for bed, Hermione opened the letter and glanced at its contents.

 _Writes and writes, but not finishes. Upsets and throws aways. Then starts agains. Thoughts student might likes anyways._

At first glance, Hermione was confused by whatever message Crimna was attempting to relay. After unfolding the first few of several crumpled pieces of parchment, however, it became very clear.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I don't know what to say …_

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I wish I could …_

 _Dear …_

 _Hermione … Hermione … Hermione … Hermione … Hermione …_

Over and over again. Thirteen letters in all, in various stages of completion, few beyond a sentence of two, and many with nothing more than her name written over and over again. Hermione stared at the characteristics of his hand, his unmistakable penmanship, the way he slashed through his _t's_ , how the dots in his _i's_ consistently contained a little hook from where the quill left the parchment.

She imagined Kilian sitting in his bed, attempting to organize his thoughts and put them to paper. She could see, as clear as day, the frustration in his face as he failed to do so over and over, each time balling up the parchment and tossing it aside before beginning again. The compilation of unfinished letters said nothing at all, but the repeated attempts spoke volumes.

"Hermione?" Parvati said, now looking at Hermione quizzically.

Gathering up the bits of parchment, Hermione straightened up on her bed.

"Did she put trash under your pillow?"

"No," Hermione answered, glancing down at her name perfectly scribed in repeated succession. "They're just notes … Reminders," she quickly clarified.

Parvati made her way to her bed, turned down the sheets and climbed in. "Not like you to have crumbled notes," she said as she tucked herself in.

"No," Hermione said to herself as she lay on her side, sliding the parchments back under her pillow. "Not like me at all."

. . .

Even with the revelation of Killian's attempts to reach out to her, Hermione could not find a way to reciprocate. Whether it was guilt, shame, anger, fear, or any combination of the lot, she remained at a distance. She would see him in the halls, glance over towards the Slytherin table during meals, and even made several attempts to put quill to parchment herself. Each time it met the same end. It was as if she was being drawn to him with magnetic force while tethered to an object that kept her just beyond his reach.

She was waiting. For what, exactly, she not the faintest of ideas. Waiting for an answer, waiting for some form of confirmation, waiting for everything to be all right. Regardless, the longer it continued, the further away he felt and the less likely it seemed as though they could ever come back.

The next several weeks kept Hermione busy. While this was a standard in Hermione's life, it had never been such a welcomed distraction. Whether she was playing peacekeeper in Defense Against the Dark Arts when Harry and Snape were at each other's throats, listening to Harry and Ron talk on about what Draco could be doing in the Room of Requirement, or not so gently reminding Harry, once again, that his true priority should be the task he was assigned by Professor Dumbledore, there was little time to wallow about her own personal issues. These momentary lapses between drama and rhetoric, however, were agonizing.

A personal distraction for Hermione was Apparition. After a few more lessons, and significant amounts of _destination, determination,_ and _deliberation,_ Hermione was head of her class. While Hermione enjoyed the attention she received for her accomplishment, there was a part of her that wondered how much of the praise and attention was merely a clever facade for Twycross to keep a close eye on her. Particularly when they were exiting the Three Broomsticks after an afternoon lesson in Hogsmeade and the Ministry's instructor made a jovial comment about how a student of her skills need not worry of the dangers involved with Apparition.

"What was he all on about?" Ron snipped as he, Hermione, and Luna left the Three Broomsticks and continued down Hogsmeade's high street.

"He just appreciates dedication and hard work," Hermione replied, marginally annoyed with Ron's tone.

"Sure, that's what it was," Ron questioned with a laugh. "More like he having a look at the future Mrs. Twycross. Have a bunch a pale, dog-breathed, little nippers Apparating about the nursery."

"Ron!" Hermione chastised. "That is both wildly inappropriate and disgusting!"

"And most likely untrue," Luna chimed in as she walked alongside. "I imagine Hermione will marry someone far younger."

"What, old and rich isn't good enough for you?" Ron continued.

"Oh, he will probably be rich," Luna clarified as Hermione glared at Ron. "Just much younger. And quite clever, I should think."

"Clever?" Ron scoffed. "Not a chance. No way would Hermione marry a clever one. Always has to be the smartest one in the room. Her man will be dim for sure."

"Was that a proposal?" Hermione snipped, having had enough of being spoken about as if she were not present.

"What?" Ron asked, stopping in his tracks. "No … I just …" He paused, crinkling his nose as Hermione insinuation slowly became clear to him. "Wait, what's that's supposed to mean?"

But it was too late. Hermione had continued on, wishing to be free of Ron's company for the moment. While more often than not Ron was to blame for his comments and actions, in this instance he was not entirely at fault. Ron was simply being Ron. His comment, which led to a back and forth with Luna over the type of person Hermione would marry, was just a playful jab. It was no different than his casual _I love you_ when Hermione was correcting the numerous spelling mistakes in his essay.

Even so, hearing such words falling from the wrong lips, having an image of a family, however sarcastically it was presented, painted into the canvases of her mind with the wrong partner … Hermione could physically feel the figurative pressure of her heart being crushed. These stolen moments, their intimacy having been stripped away and reduced to common and meaningless exchanges, were forever lost and could never be replicated.

Now walking alone, Hermione took a turn off the main road and followed the path up towards the Shrieking Shack where there were not so many people about. While war that raged throughout the Wizarding world had slowly thinned the patrons of Hogsmeade, it was still too much of a crowd for Hermione at the moment.

As the sounds of the high street faded with each step, Hermione felt a calm wash over her. The quiet sounds of nature enveloped her senses as she took in the cool air of her surroundings. She took a deep breath and exhaled, watching her misty breath dissipate into nothingness.

The tranquility was short-lived, however, when she saw Killian. He was sitting alone on a fallen tree aside the aged and broken fence surrounding the abandoned house where the Marauders once held court. In his hand he held a white flower, the petals of which he slowly plucked one by one, each vaporizing in a flash of light and smoke as he released it into the air.

Hermione's first instinct should have been to go to him. She wanted it to be. Instead, she found herself cemented in place, hearing the words she wanted to say, words that were locked away in the recesses of her mind and fighting to escape their mental prison. But it was a battle fought in vain as Hermione remained silently in place, taking not a single step closer to the Slytherin who stated at the withering flower in his hand.

Before the final petal had been pulled free, Hermione turned and hurried back to bustle she had only just escaped.

. . .

It was not long before Hermione was ready for her Apparition exam, a hurdle she leapt with ease. Ron, on the other hand, was not so lucky, having failed for having left half an eyebrow behind. It was not much, but enough to earn a failing mark. Even with as mean-spirited as Ron had been in recent months, Hermione felt sorry for him. For once, it appeared as though he had really tried at something other than Quidditch, and he fell short. Having, herself, felt the sting of not achieving a goal of significant meaning, Hermione could sympathize with his plight.

Afterwards, she and Ron met with Harry in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, discussing what to do in regards to retrieving Professor Slughorn's memory. All attempts to date had failed in resounding fashion. It had been previously decided that if Harry was not successful that morning, he would resort to using the Felix Felicis he obtained as a reward earlier in the year from, in an ironic twist, Professor Slughorn. So the time had come.

After taking a drink, however, contrary to making a mad dash to see the Potions instructor, Harry decided he would run off to be with Hagrid for Aragog's burial. If there was any possible way to do something more counterproductive to the task at hand, Hermione could not think of it. Still, Harry's mind was set … Or Felix's mind, as Harry pointed out before throwing on his invisibility cloak and racing down the stairs towards the common room.

With Hermione and Ron close on his heels, Harry opened the door at the base of the winding staircase, ran through the common room, and left Gryffindor Tower. Unfortunately, this left Hermione and Ron standing in plain view for anyone to see. This particular anyone could not have been less welcomed.

"What were you doing up there with _her_?" Lavender screamed in a shrilly pitch better suited for the audile level of canines and felines.

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned, dropping his head in defeated dejection.

"Care to explain yourself?" Lavender asked Hermione, her narrowed eyes casting a glare of fire and ice.

"I absolutely do not," Hermione answered assertively.

"No, of course you don't," Lavender cried on. "Not precious little Hermione. She's so very clever. Everyone says so, isn't that right?" Hermione could feel her heart rate accelerating with every word that fell from Lavender's lips. "Clever enough to sidle up to Durmstrang's champion. And once Victor was of no good use anymore, clever enough to attach yourself to Cormac. Made your way with his family's wealth and influence, didn't you?" The accusations were as cutting as they were absurd. It seemed the rumors of Hermione's interests would never face. Even still, it took every ounce of constitution for Hermione to restrain herself. "And what now? You snatch away my Ron? Why? Just to show everyone that you can?"

"Hang on now," Ron finally spoke up, making his best, albeit not particularly strong or confident, effort to intervene and calm things over. "You don't need to get all up in a twist. It's just Hermione. There's nothing to it."

"Right," Lavender scoffed. "I'm to believe that? Look at you two standing there. Guilt all over your faces." She took a step towards Hermione, the angers in her eyes increasing. "You think you can have whatever you want. And when you've bled out all its usefulness, you just toss it away. You're pathetic!"

This was the moment. The moment when Lavender's actions went a step too far, her words cut a fraction too deep. This was the moment when Hermione would unleash her growing fury upon an emotionally distraught, and likely unbalanced, housemate.

She could feel her blood boiling, her heart pounding in her chest. She could almost taste the fear she would soon see in those livid eyes Lavender wore so boldly. This was when Hermione would show Lavender what she was truly capable of doing when cornered and provoked. This was the moment, this was her moment. And Hermione took it, absorbed it, bent it to her will, and did what she should have done when given the chance in the dungeons.

 _Take a breath …_

She could hear Killian's voice as clear as if he was standing beside her. His simple advice as she paced about, nervously awaiting her meeting with Rita Skeeter in Hogsmeade on the previous year's Valentine's Day. He was correct then. It was correct now.

"You have a problem, Ron," Hermione said, addressing her ginger-haired fellow Gryffindor. "Fix it."

Without another word, Hermione walked off, making her way to her own room high in the tower of the girls' dormitory. Once there, she fell upon her bed, as she had done countless times over the last several weeks.

Reaching over, she opened the drawer of her nightstand and removed Killian's Croniker. The combination of his blood and the dragon blood mixture was rapidly exchanging positions from top to bottom, not a single drop of one coming in contact with the other.

Hermione wondered if the increased motion had anything to do with Killian. He has said it would keep in motion so long as he was alive. Did it also change depending upon his emotional state? Did it speed up if he was excited or frightened? Did it slow when he slept? What was he feeling at the moment? Did he feel the same hopeless sense of emptiness that haunted her every moment that was not distracted with Harry or Ron?

"Shushes …"

Sitting up with a start, Hermione saw Crimna standing at the foot of her bed holding a folded piece of parchment. With a timid smile, the house-elf placed the letter on the bed, placed her finger to her lips, and Disapparated with a snap.

Leaping towards the parchment, Hermione unfolded it with such vigor she nearly tore the edge. She recognized the hand immediately and, almost as quickly her eyes began to sting. Be it happiness, longing, or some other emotion that could not be put to words, a tear streamed down her cheek and onto the parchment.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I have begun this letter so many times I have lost count. I know exactly what I want to say, the words hanging on the tip of the quill, begging to be scribed. Yet, each time I stain the parchment, not a single phrase alludes sense. I wish I could speak to you in person, but I fear even then I would only make myself look the fool._

 _This time I am determined to finish. I apologize if the words come out wrong. But if I cannot see this through, my fear is the words will never come at all. And that is far worse a fate than humility._

 _I heard the Apparition exams were today. I have no doubt you did well. Beyond expectations I am certain. I wish I could have seen the look on your face. You're smile is always brightest when you have accomplished something of significance. Pure and unadulterated. But alas, I could not bring myself to go to you. I feared what might come of it, should I try._

 _Seeing you at a distance, beyond my touch, has been an agony beyond any torment I could suffer. I would face a thousand Dementors in its place. My life, my world, my entire existence has lost a precious piece that once shown so bright in the eternal darkness._

 _The affiliations of my father, the place we come from, and everything intertwined within was never a life I wished upon you. In these convoluted times addicted to black and white dividing lines of right and wrong, I've muddled through the middle grey in the hopes that I may see a future where even the most obtrusive of wrongs can be made right. I have seen terrible evils committed by those I have held in my heart, only to see those same individuals embrace the fabrics of everything one would hold pure and true. Even my sister has had her moment of falling prey to a poor path only to find her way once again. And beyond yourself, she may be the only person I have held in higher regard._

 _It is the path of a cynical optimist, and I have no expectation of understanding or forgiveness for these shortcomings. I just wish for you to know that it was never my intention to set you into this void of perpetual conflict. I had no right to do so. I wish I could take it back and return to the time when your defiantly confident glare could look beyond my masks and see the person behind the façade, when your smile alone could provide a comfort and peace no poet's words could convey with any amount of equity._

 _To this end, there is nothing more I can write, nothing more I can express beyond one simple truth … I miss you. More than anything I would have ever believed possible. Without you, I do not feel whole. This one veracity, while simplistic and seemingly inconsequential in a world warring over labyrinthine ideals and politics, will never be in doubt._

 _Forever yours,_

 _Killian_

Wiping her eyes, Hermione traced Killian's signature with her finger. It had been so long since he had written her such a letter. The structure and wording, much like the way he spoke at times, was so very different from anyone Hermione had ever known. So very Killian. So very hers.

"Are you all right?" came Parvati's voice.

Hermione folded the letter and discreetly slid it beneath her pillow.

"Don't pay Lavender any mind," Parvati went on as she knelt down beside her bed, fetching a pair of shoes, and proceeding to swap them out with the ones she was wearing. "She's just jealous, is all. Personally, I don't understand any of it. But it's your life." She paused, finishing her exchange of footwear and looking to Hermione. "Still though … you and Ron now?"

"There is no me and Ron," Hermione clarified. "Lavender is just—"

"Mental?" Parvati offered.

"Yes," Hermione agreed with a laugh. "Quite mental."

Parvati stole a quick glance in the mirror and began for the door when a thought hit Hermione.

"Wait," she called after her. "You don't understand any of what?"

"I don't know," Parvati answered with a shrug. "I guess I just find it odd is all."

"Find what odd?" Hermione asked on.

"All the gossip about you and Viktor, you and Cormac, you and Ron …" Parvati explained. "I don't remember seeing any of them standing outside our tower like a sad little puppy caught in a rainstorm."

"No," Hermione mused with a smile. "Nor do I?"

"Of course, that was a long time ago," Parvati said. "Things change, I guess."

"You knew who was out there last year?" Hermione asked, surprised by the revelation.

"I was curious when you ran off, so I had a look," Parvati admitted. "But I don't gossip about everything I see. Never saw the point really," she concluded poignantly as she exited the room.

Now alone, Hermione closed her eyes, remembering Killian's appearance a year previous when she was alerted by the waterlogged paper hummingbird. She recalled her excitement as she raced from her room, a confused Parvati questioning her uncharacteristic actions after having been awoken by the bustle. It did seem like a long time. So very long. And things had changed. They were changing still.

Reaching under her pillow to retrieve Killian's letter, Hermione wondered just how much any of it really mattered. Nothing ever stays the same. It would be an illogical desire to believe it even should. All one could do was decide with whom they wished to face the inevitable variations life would bring. Again tracing Killian's delicately penned signature with her finger, Hermione did not have to ponder long.


	16. Chapter 16 - Serpent in the Sky

_Ah, another week of multiple posts. Which is good since I went almost two weeks between posts prior to this week. But who's counting, right? We are getting near the end. Not quite, but getting there. Dumbledore just told Harry he knows where to find a Horcrux. For anyone who read the books or watched the movies, you know what that means._

 _But I digress ... Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Sixteen -_

 _Serpent in the Sky_

After reading Killian's letter, Hermione had made up her mind. She knew what her heart wanted, what she wanted. Soon, however, she discovered it was not that simple. While her heart and mind were in agreement, her body was not so inclined to obey. And even without that hurdle to leap, it seemed as though the opportune times she and Killian previously found so readily available had somehow vanished. Or perhaps those moments were not so not so much found as they were taken.

Regardless of the perception, over and over Hermione discovered herself frozen in the moment. Seeing Killian across a hall, across a room, outside in the courtyard, each time unable to cross the distance that spanned between them, as if it were a vast chasm over a river of blades and broken glass. And the more time dragged on, the further that distance seemed to become.

In the end, Hermione realized that she, like Killian had done when he finally penned his letter to her after starting and stopping so many times previous, had to forgo her ego, ignore her sense of fear and anxiety as to what might ensue, and discover for herself what will occur.

An opportunity arose one evening as Hermione found herself, once again, ascending the staircase to the hospital wing. She knew he would be there. A part of her hated that he would be there, but she knew him too well to believe him to be anywhere else.

As she opened the door and glanced inside, Hermione saw Killian sitting in a chair alongside the only occupied bed in the wing, his head in his hands. This time, however, it was Draco lying wounded and still, the effects of Harry's Sectumsempra curse, which he had cast upon Draco with merciless accuracy.

The door creaked as Hermione entered, and she saw Killian's head lift before he turned to see who was approaching. Almost immediately, his eyes softened and the tiniest hint of a regretful smile appeared on his pale and hollowed features.

"What in the bloody hell is she doing here?" Draco scoffed painfully when he saw Hermione in the doorway.

"Calm yourself," Killian chastised in jest. "I rather doubt she's here to see you."

"Just make it quick," Draco grumbled with a sigh and he rolled on his side, his back to the door. "I'm not in the mood for company."

"Really?" Killian asked with a grin. "Is that why I've been here all night?"

"Shut up," Draco dismissed.

Killian turned back towards Hermione, his eyes upon her in the way that had been so often before, warm and inviting. Behind that, however, was a contrition that reminded Hermione of the previous weeks and what led to distance. Again, she found herself frozen, unable to take another step into the room. She could so nothing more than stand at the threshold with an eternity between them; an eternity that could be both crossed and forgotten with a single touch. But it had taken everything Hermione had within her to come this far, to climb that staircase, to enter the room. She could go no further. She did not know how.

To her relief, Killian did not have the same inhibitions. He made his way across the room and embraced Hermione where she stood, his strong slender arms lifting her to the tips of her toes. For several moments, they held each other in silence. It was not until Draco issued a punctuated groan of disgust that they relinquished each other and left the hospital wing for the hall.

"I've missed you," Killian said as soon as they cleared the door, running his fingers through Hermione's hair.

"It's been awful," Hermione admitted. "I haven't been able to sleep, I haven't been able to eat … I must look an absolute fright."

Killian smiled, his hand softly caressing Hermione's cheek. "You're the most beautiful vision I've ever seen."

"Obviously, you're a blind fool, then," Hermione teased.

Killian rested his forehead on Hermione's, the familiar scent of peppermint on his breath. She had longed for his familiar touch even more than she imagined, fearing its loss, holding onto the eroding hope that things could somehow go back to the way they used to be.

"I'm sorry," she said at last.

Killian withdrew, looking Hermione in the eyes. "Don't apologize," he said. "You've done nothing wrong."

"I doubted you," Hermione said.

"You had reason to," Killian reasoned. "You cannot fault yourself for that."

Hermione knew he was dismissing her actions, making excuses for her lack of trust. And while he might forgive her for what she thought of him, she was not so forgiving of herself.

"Killian, I …" she began, but was cut off as Killian drew her in, kissing her unexpectedly, stealing the words from her lips.

After catching her breath, Hermione placed her head upon Killian's chest, closing her eyes and daring to dream.

"What's happening to this world?" she asked.

"I don't care about this world," Killian answered. "You are the only thing in existence that matters to me."

"We sound like silly children speaking of things we're too young to understand," Hermione with a subtle. "That's what our parent's would tell us."

"Do you really believe that?" Killian asked.

Hermione looked up into Killian's eyes. "No," she answered without hesitation. "I don't believe that at all. I believe we're different. We have to be. You and I … We just … We have to be."

"We can still make this right," Killian promised.

"What _is_ right?" Hermione asked. "I don't even think I know anymore."

"This is right," Killian whispered. "And soon enough this is all there will be. We'll be able to put all of it aside, and there will be nothing else."

"Can we not just go now?" Hermione mused in fantasy. "Run away and leave all of this behind us?"

Killian raised an eyebrow. "You'd never leave school."

"No," Hermione agreed with a smile. "I suppose I wouldn't, would I? … How is he?" she then asked, glancing over Killian's shoulder towards the door.

"He'll be fine," Killian answered. "It's likely not to scar at all."

"He didn't mean it, you know," Hermione explained.

"Potter?" Killian asked.

"He didn't know what the curse did," Hermione explained further. "It's that stupid Potions book. He's beside himself over the whole thing."

"I'm sure he is. Harry's …" Killian paused and gazed thoughtfully towards the ceiling before returning his attention to Hermione. "Harry's different like that."

Now together for the first time in what felt like forever, Hermione and Killian stood in the hall, bantering back and forth endlessly until Madame Pomfrey chased them away to their respective houses. Before they left, the two paid a quick visit to Draco, who was deeply disinterested in Hermione's presence. She assumed that was exactly why Killian had insisted she come in with him. He certainly seemed to enjoy teasing his longtime friend and housemate. And involving Hermione gave his little jabs all the more sting.

After they left the hospital wing and separated near the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione was left to ponder. Lies, secrets, cursed necklaces, poisoned mead … When would it all end? The year was nearly over. Summer would come, and they could escape the deception and mistrust that had seemed to plague the halls of Hogwarts in recent years. For a time, even as short as it may be, they will be away from it all.

Perhaps it was a foolish fantasy, a life beyond the chaos. With all Hermione had been through in recent years, such an existence certainly seemed like a work of fiction. At the moment, however, it did not matter. Hermione dared to dream, dared to belief such a life possible. And that was all she needed.

. . .

It was finally over. Hermione and Killian had gone from the highest peaks to the deepest chasms and managed to find each other in the end. And in and odd twist of irony, after the dust settled, Hermione felt they were stronger for it.

It was not the same as it had been before; although that was not necessarily a bad thing. The mystery and excitement of a budding interest of the heart had been replaced by something Hermione could not put into words. In truth, it was almost unnatural how long that initial feeling had lasted.

But the flutter from his touch, the unconscious smile when she would catch his eye from across the hall, the way time seemed to accelerate when they were together and slowed when they were apart … Hermione could not have hoped more.

The following weeks were nothing short of brilliant. Stealing time in a corridor between classes, taking a stroll out on the grounds under the cover of darkness after dinner, and conversations of the upcoming summer as well as the freedom it will supply.

Even Harry seemed to have found a spot of happiness, the topic gossip that did not surround him with Dark Magic or horrific events. In spite of his absence on the Quidditch pitch, Gryffindor avoided an embarrassing defeat and found themselves victorious. Afterwards, Harry and Ginny finally gave into their unspoken attraction in a burst of celebratory passion. And while there had previously been a bit of tension between Hermione and Ginny over Hermione's constant harping on Harry for his continued use of his annotated copy of Advanced Potions, Hermione could not have been happier for the two of them.

Then, when Hermione had only just begun to believe in the fantasy of a brighter future, a future without pain, fear, and drama, it was gone.

As night fell, only days before the end of the school year, Harry entered the Gryffindor common room in a flurry. Hermione and Ron had been passing time by the fire; Hermione reading and Ron jabbing at the coals with the cast iron poker. After a hurried explanation of a Horcrux, a cave, and Professor Dumbledore's invitation for Harry to join him on his proverbial scavenger hunt, Harry gave Hermione the Marauders Map, Ron a sock containing the remaining portion of his Felix Felicis, and both of them instructions to keep an eye on both Draco and Professor Snape before exiting in the same hurried manner by which he had arrived.

The event, as a whole, left Hermione and Ron dumbfounded. Whether they believed Harry's suspicions surrounding Draco, or Snape for that matter, was irrelevant. The conviction in his voice and finality in his tone incited a horror they could not ignore.

The next several hours were as tense as any Hermione had felt during her time at Hogwarts. Watching footprints dance across the aged parchment of the Marauder's Map, hoping not see to anything of consequence, and for the most part finding it to be uneventful. Even so, after having doubted Harry throughout the year, dismissing his claims, believing them to be nothing more than Harry looking for a reason to blame Draco for his own personal reasons, the very idea that she now feared that at any moment she may discover Harry was correct … It was a stark reminder of the world she truly lived within versus the one she hoped to have one day.

"I'm not seeing much … Right?" Ron asked, his eyes fixated on the map.

"Are you asking me if you're seeing something?" Hermione asked with a roll of her eyes.

"I dunno," Ron answered. "What are we looking for anyway?"

"Anything out of the ordinary," Hermione answered.

"Well, what's out of the ordinary supposed to look like?" Ron asked on.

"Good question," Hermione answered. "I guess we'll know it if we see it."

For several minutes they continued to stare at the map in silence, watching the footprints stroll the castle. It was getting late, so most students and faculty had ended their day and were segregated in their various areas of dwelling. Even so, a few scattered footprints were out and about.

As expected, Harry and Professor Dumbledore were nowhere to be found. Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout were walking along together near the Great Hall. Professor Trelawney was in her classroom, no doubt staring at a crystal ball and talking to herself about her inner eye. Professor Flitwick was in his classroom as well. Several members of the Order of the Phoenix were patrolling the halls, pausing every so often to investigate something or other. Even Draco seemed innocuous, simply pacing back and forth in the Slytherin common room.

Hermione also spotted two other pairs of footprints belonging to individuals who called Hogwarts home. While not suspicious by any means, they were simply noticeable. These particular prints belonged to Professor Snape and Killian, both of whom were in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

They had been there for quite some time. Even Ron had made mention of it, referring to Killian as that Slytherin hanging about with Snape. It was clear from his tone that Ron did hold Killian in high regard, Hermione was not entirely certain as to why. To the best of her knowledge, they had never met. Perhaps it was the rumors surrounding him. Or perhaps it was simply because he was a Slytherin. A dislike for house affiliation alone was not beyond Ron's character.

Regardless, Killian was not in his common room nor Snape in his private quarters. Again, not suspicious, but for Hermione, and for reasons unrelated to why they were studying the map, it was of interest.

"Do you think Harry's wrong about all this?" Ron asked, breaking the mind-numbing silence surrounding them.

"You know where I stand with his Draco theories," Hermione answered, stretching her arms and shoulders, having become sore from the prolonged time spent on the floor hovering over the Marauder's map.

"But what about Dumbledore?" Ron asked on. "He's never wrong about anything, is he?"

"To my understanding, Professor Dumbledore has never made mention of Draco in relation to anything that's happened this year," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess you're right on that," Ron conceded. "But then, even if he did suspect Draco, it's probably not something he'd say."

"So what you're saying is that Professor Dumbledore not giving any indication he suspects Draco is actually an indication he does?" Hermione asked as if the idea was the most ludicrous theory she had ever heard.

"I'm not saying anything," Ron defended. "I'm just … I don't know. I'm tired, is all. I want it all to end."

Hermione glanced down at Killian's footprints. "I know, Ron," she agreed humbly. "Me too."

"Listen," Ron started, perking up and clearly looking to change the subject. "Why don't you go off to bed? I can keep watch. Doesn't seem likely anything's gonna happen anyways. No reason we both need to stare at this thing."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, both surprised at Ron's unselfish offer as well as longing for her bed.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed. "I mean Harry's with Dumbledore, so he's all right. They've been gone a good while and nothing's happened yet. If it hasn't happened yet, what's the likelihood it will at all, right?"

Although Hermione had been around Hogwarts long enough to know that something being unlikely had little to do with whether it would happen, the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins after Harry ran off had long since drained away. The idea of laying her head on her soft pillow and drifting too to sleep was all to inviting.

"All right," Hermione conceded. "Maybe go to sleep yourself. We both could use it."

"I will," Ron said as he settled back on the floor in front of the hearth. "In a bit. Just going to wait for Harry."

Hermione stood and straightened her clothes, taking one last long stretch before starting off towards her dormitory. "Goodnight, then …"

"G'nite, Hermione …"

Strangely, once Hermione got to her room, although still physically exhausted, she no longer wanted to sleep. She sat upon her bed, fumbled through her belongings, and retrieved Killian's Croniker, believing perhaps the slow and steady perpetual motion contained within might lull her into a state of relaxation.

After almost an hour of staring at the hypnotic movements to no avail, she noticed a sudden ripple within the Croniker, like a millpond struck with a stone. The cycle then began to increase rapidly as a crisp bang emanated from the grounds.

Rushing to the window and searching the night sky for the source, Hermione's own blood ran cold. High in the night sky above the Astronomy Tower was the twisting figure of a snake protruding from a skull ablaze with green fire … The Death Mark … They were here!

Hermione raced down the stairs and exited the tower, joined by Ron, Ginny, and Neville; all whom appeared to have heard the noise as well. Almost immediately, the sounds of battle filled the area as members of the Order of the Phoenix engaged the intruding Death Eaters at the far end of the corridor.

"They came from the Room of Requirement," Ron explained. "Got by us."

"We tried to stop 'em," Neville explained further. "Couldn't see a thing. Was like night."

"How did it happen?" Hermione asked. "How did they get in?"

"Does it matter?" Ginny asked as she took off towards the melee with Neville close behind.

Engaging Death Eaters for the second year in a row was certainly teetering on insanity. Hermione could hear Killian's words from the previous year rattling through her head.

"Where's the map?" she asked, grabbing Ron by the arm as he went to follow Neville and his sister.

"What?" Ron asked.

"The map!" Hermione repeated.

"Here," Ron answered, holding out the Marauder's map for Hermione.

Taking the parchment, Hermione began to scour the castle.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked impatiently as the sounds of explosion echoed through the halls.

"Wait," Hermione dismissed, her eyes darting across the folded pages, now filled with hundreds of names and footprints streaking through the rooms and corridors. Representations of students, faculty, members of the Order, and Death Eaters had turned the map into a quagmire of streaking ink, barely legible enough to read.

Finally, Hermione found the name she was looking for. Tossing the map back to Ron, she ran down the hall towards the Tapestry Corridor.

"Where are you going?" Ron called after her.

"Just go!" Hermione shouted back. "I'll catch up!"

Racing towards her destination, Hermione's mind was racing, trying to come up with any sort of feasible plan. As she entered the Tapestry Corridor, the thoughts were suddenly and violently interrupted as the entrance to Snape's storage room was blasted off its hinges from the inside. When the dust settled, she saw Killian burst through the doorway and start down the hall towards the sounds of battle.

"Killian!" she shouted.

Killian stopped and spun around as Hermione caught up to him.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, his eyes igniting with tempered fury.

"What were _you_ doing in _there_?" Hermione retorted.

"Professor Snape locked me in," Killian answered as he turned to head on.

"Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, grabbing Killian by the arm and restraining him from leaving. "Why would he—"

"Did you see him?" Killian interrupted.

"No," Hermione admitted. "But Death Eaters are in the castle."

"I know," Killian said as he took Hermione by the hand and raced down the corridor. "Come on!"

It was not long before they encountered their first roadblock along the way, dodging several jets of red light thrown by two Death Eaters in the main hall.

" _Petrificus totalus_!" Hermione cast, hitting one of the Death Eaters squarely in the chest before he fell back like a granite statue.

As they moved on, Killian engaged with the other intruder. Hermione did not know what was cast, as Killian had become quite skilled at unspoken magic. Whatever it was, it thrust his adversary into the rafters of the ceiling, slamming him into both adjoining walls before leaving his limp body in a freefall towards the cold stone floor. It was frighteningly impressive. Albeit leaning slightly more towards frightening.

After dispatching the pair of Lord Voldemort's minions, Hermione and Killian continued on, stepping over fallen combatants, both Death Eaters and otherwise. When they reached the area where the battle was engaged the fullest, it was sheer bedlam. Members of the Order were trying desperately to break through the barrier that had been set at the base of the spiraling staircase leading up to the Astronomy Tower while others dueled with the numerous Death Eaters who still remained in the hall.

Killian immediately joined in the fray, although never getting more than a few paces away from Hermione. Hermione, having buried her fears, began casting offensive spells instinctively with devastating effects. Just as in the Room of Requirement the previous year, she felt her passion burning from within, focusing her mind and guiding her movements.

As Death Eaters continued to advance upon them, Hermione's only thoughts were to vanquish and obliterate them. It was as if she was a third party to herself, watching the scene unfold; a mere observer to the chaos that was ensuing. She could see Killian, a half step ahead of everything occurring around him. She could see herself, standing beside him with a confidence she never knew existed; strong and unbending before the onslaught of Death Eaters. It was utterly amazing, if not for the gravity of the reality.

"Professor!" Killian shouted, breaking Hermione from her trance.

Hermione followed Killian's eyes and saw Professor Snape exiting the stairway with Draco aside him. The fury in Snape's eyes was unmistakable, dragging Draco along like a pale and sickly rag doll in his bony grip.

"Time to leave!" Snape instructed the Death Eaters as he made his way down the hall towards the main doors to Hogwarts. "Go! Go!"

Killian's eyes glazed over in disbelief, his mouth agape, his hands falling limp at his sides. Had it not been for Hermione tackling him to the ground, he would have been struck squarely with an errant jinx that was bounding about the hall.

As she looked back towards the stairway, Hermione saw Harry barreling through, heading off after Professor Snape and Draco. Killian immediately leapt to his feet and, like a man possessed, cut through any straggling Death Eaters he encountered as he, too, gave chase. Hermione followed, keeping pace until they reached the main hall exiting to the courtyards.

There, after dodging another attack and blasting its caster into the far wall, Hermione saw Neville lying on the floor, wounded and unguarded. Now torn between continuing the pursuit alongside Killian and tending to her friend and housemate, Hermione reluctantly chose the latter. Although cursing the air and she cleared the debris blocking her way, she knew Neville was in far greater need than Killian at the moment.

Once on his feet and stable enough to move, Hermione and Neville made their way to safer ground, joining Ron, Ginny, and several other member of Dumbledore's Army.

That was the last Hermione saw of Killian that night. With the mourning and disarray in the aftermath of the attack, she had little time to allocate to it. Even so, it weighed heavily on her mind. Particularly when the details of the event became clear.

As the smoke and fires dissipated, the world around them had changed with devastating consequences. Professor Dumbledore had been struck down by Snape, a traitor and murderer who escaped Hogwarts alongside Draco and several of the invading Death Eaters. Members of the Order were trying to regroup and make sense of the situation, but there was no sense to be found.

In a shattering moment of revelation and humility, Hermione's fears from earlier in the evening came to fruition. Harry was right. He had been right all along. Throughout the year, Draco had been working tirelessly on repairing a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. Once completed, it provided the Death Eaters an undetectable entrance into Hogwarts.

Since the moment they watched him enter Borgin and Burkes before the first term had begun Hermione had doubted it, made excuses, convinced herself there were lines even Draco would not cross. She was wrong. It was Draco. The necklace that cursed Katie Price, the poisoned mead in Slughorn's office, the siege on Hogwarts that left dozens dead and wounded; he was responsible for them all. And Killian … Killian and Draco …


	17. Chapter 17 - The Fallen Mentor

_It's Monday morning ... Another post. Very close to the end here. Only one chapter to go. I apologize for not having this up last Friday. I wanted to make certain I had everything correct in it as these last two chapters kind of really pull everything together for this particular story in Hermione/Killian's journey. I also apologize in advance if it takes more than a couple of days to get the next/final chapter up for the same reasons._

 _Alas, I hope you enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Nine -_

 _The Fallen Mentor_

Dumbledore was gone. No matter how often the words passed through Hermione's mind, they did not sink in. Even as she watched Hagrid place Dumbledore's body on the ceremonial table, which burst into flames before solidifying into the marble tomb that would enshrine the remains of Hogwarts' former headmaster, she still somehow envisioned Dumbledore wafting through the crowd of mourners to address the group with his simple and harmless mannerisms. It just did not seem real. Reality itself was becoming more and more of a nightmarish fiction.

Hermione had neither seen nor heard from Killian since the night of the attack. Many of the students had gone, their parents fearful of any further dangers that might ensue within the walls of the school. Somehow, however, Hermione doubted the Finns would have such concerns for their son. Although troubled by his absence at the funeral, Hermione knew Killian was still at Hogwarts. Somewhere within the walls, he was still there.

As the details of the night continued to unfold, Hermione's world crumbled further. After she had gone up to bed, Ron noticed he could no longer find Draco on the Marauder's Map. Fearing the worst, he, Ginny, and Neville decided to stand watch by the Room of Requirement. In the moment of panic, none of the three thought to find Hermione before they ran from Gryffindor House in search of Draco. It all happened so fast.

They were there when Draco and the Death Eaters entered the castle. Although attempting to the best of their abilities to engage, the intruders managed to get by them using the Weasley twin's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder for cover and Draco's Hand of Glory to light the way. No longer able to see, the trio was fleeing the area when they encountered Hermione.

While Neville, Ron, and Ginny were covering the Room of Requirement, Luna was sent to keep an eye on Professor Snape's office. To Hermione's surprise, Luna claimed she met her on the way and the two of them kept watch together, seeing Professor Flitwick arrive to fetch Snape, only to be knocked unconscious.

In truth, what Luna had actually witnessed was Professor Flitwick enter the office, frantically calling for Professor Snape's aid. Snape, hurried and visibly upset, arrived moments later and incapacitated the dwarfish instructor before rushing off towards the Astronomy Tower. Luckily, Professor Flitwick was far too disorientated to remember much in regards to details the likes of who was there and who was not, and as such, no one was the wiser.

When Hermione questioned Luna on why she had mislead everyone, she claimed her version of the events in no way affected what happened overall. She further explained that if she told people whom she really saw Hermione with that night, it would cause problems that were entirely unnecessary. Both stunned by Luna's thought process and grateful for her continued loyalty and discretion, Hermione went along with the fabrication, convincing herself the ends justified the means.

The last person to have seen Killian was Harry. Both he and Killian gave chase to Professor Snape as the Death Eaters fled the grounds like the feral cowards they were. Harry mentioned to Hermione that he had witnessed Killian engaging with a Death Eater just as Buckbeak chased Snape off beyond the border of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, that was all Harry could report to her, and she knew that now was not a good time to be pressing him for anything further.

The funeral passed, day faded into night, and the castle fell silent. It was as if it, too, was mourning the loss of someone dear. Hermione sat upon her bed, the same as she had the night of the attack, staring out the window. This night, however, there was no snake and skull burning through the sky. Instead, there was a brilliant marble tomb along the lake shore, gleaming in the moonlight.

As she sat alone in a desolate silence that would have unnerved the dead, Hermione was suddenly reminded of the previous year when a rain-soaked paper hummingbird pecked at her window. She remembered the sight of Killian standing outside, drenched by the storm, gazing up at her from the grounds below. She wished beyond reason she could recapture that moment. But things had changed. The world had changed. Nothing would ever be that simple again. She was a fool for believing it ever could.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione crossed the room, leaned against the window, and glanced over the grounds. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. After opening the window for a better look, however, there was no doubt.

There he was. Not at the base of the Gryffindor tower, but sitting on the grass by the Black Lake, staring at Dumbledore's tomb.

Hermione's body reacted before her mind had processed the image. In a matter of a few moments, she raced out of the castle and came up alongside Killian. She was sure he knew she was there. In the silence that surrounded them, he must have heard her approach. Still, he offered no reaction to her presence.

Oddly enough, she did not know how to react, either. She felt uncomfortable, as if they strangers were meeting for the very first time. With nothing else seeming proper, she decided to simply sit on the grass aside Killian and join him in his silent stare before the White Tomb.

"Did I tell you that my sister had a baby?" he asked.

"No," Hermione answered.

"She did," Killian went on. "Two days ago … A boy. She's very proud …"

In truth, Hermione had not even known Killian's sister was with child. They had not spent much time discussing such casual topics of late. Until that moment, Hermione had not realized how much that aspect of their relationship had fallen away. In the past, Killian spoke of his sister often and with much fondness. As he had mentioned in his letter, she was the only person he held in higher regard than herself. More recently, fear, suspicion, and distrust had gotten in the way of such simplicities.

For several minutes there was silence, neither of them seeming to know what direction to take. Hermione cast an occasional glance at Killian, but his focus was elsewhere, his mind was elsewhere. She was looking upon little more than a physical shell basking in the pale moonlight.

"This is what I leave with," Killian finally said, his normally confident voice cracking, his eyes remaining fixed ahead. "Seven years I've been at Hogwarts, and this is what I take with me."

"Killian …" Hermione offered, but fell short of anything else to say.

"It's my fault," Killian went on, clenching his jaw to restrain his emotions as his eyes began to tear.

"It's not your fault," Hermione said, although it was more of an instinctual answer than anything based on faith or belief. "No one could have—"

"I was helping him …"

The gentle echo of Killian's voice faded into silence. Surrounded by nothing but the sounds of water lapping upon the banks of the lake and the chirps of nocturnal insects in the distance, Hermione stared at Killian in disbelief. He still had yet to look at her, his eyes remaining fixed ahead, focused and unwavering. Now, for the first time, Hermione almost feared that he would, afraid of what she might see. His eyes had never to her, they never could.

"What?" Hermione finally asked, praying she had misinterpreted Killian's confession.

"Draco," Killian answered, confirming Hermione's fears. "He was … fixing a Vanishing Cabinet … The hinge, the letters, the instructions …"

"You knew?" Hermione asked, her heart aching at the realization of everything. "All along, you knew?"

"No," Killian clarified. "I didn't know what he was doing … Not until after. He wouldn't tell me… I just knew he was …" Killian paused, pressing his eyes closed. Hermione could see he was on the edge of breaking down entirely, something she would not have believed possible had she not been witnessing it for herself. "Do you remember the man who came to my home when you visited this past summer?"

"Yes," Hermione answered cautiously.

"His name is Yaxley," Killian explained. "He was there to meet with my father, to inform him that Draco had been given the honor of service for the greater good. He was looking for support—financially and otherwise. My father, ever the diplomat, agreed. He, furthermore, offered my services as a go-between, seeing as Draco would never be allowed to receive any posts or packages without severe scrutiny."

Hermione had read Yaxley's name in the letter Killian received from his father. She had also heard Killian say his name when he met with him, albeit in disguise, behind the Three Broomsticks. Discovering Yaxley was the man who visited the Finn family estate when she and Killian had stolen away for a late summer afternoon together was not entire surprising.

However, Hermione now knew Yaxley for another reason as well. He was one of several captured and arrested after the assault on Hogwarts. Of all people, it was Harry who was responsible, having hit Yaxley with a Full-Body Binding Curse as he attempted to flee with Snape and the others. Yaxley was a Death Eater. And like Lucius Malfoy, it was clear he was an affiliate of Killian's father.

"Killian," Hermione asked, trying desperately to understand, "why didn't you tell someone?"

"I did," Killian explained, a single stream of tears finally bursting through and tracing his cheek. "I told him everything," he went on. "He told me to go along with what I'd been ordered to do. He said that otherwise it would raise _suspicion_ … Just report everything I discovered to him and he would make certain it was taken care of. He told me not to worry. He promised me everything would be all right. He _promised_ me!"

Hermione placed a comforting hand on Killian's shoulder, recalling the time she saw Killian walking along with Professor Dumbledore in the Tapestry Corridor. It made so little sense. All of it. The Vanishing Cabinet, the attack, Draco's involvement … How could Professor Dumbledore have been caught so unaware if Killian had been informing him of everything throughout the year? Particularly when Killian was validating the suspicions Harry had been bringing to their headmaster as well.

"He was my mentor," Killian went on. "My guide … And now he's gone."

"Professor Dumbledore meant a lot to all of us," Hermione comforted.

"Not Dumbledore," Killian said, now looking at Hermione for the first time. "It was never Dumbledore."

"I don't understand," Hermione said, retreating slightly. "Who are you talking about?"

The strain in Killian's face was more evident that ever as he fought to find his words. His eyes, bloodshot and lost, could not even meet Hermione's as one final admission fell from his lips.

"Snape …"

The revelation hit Hermione with the force of a thousand curses. It could not be true. It could not possibly be true. Backing away with her mouth agape, Hermione felt her entire world collapsed around her.

"Snape?" she choked, her hand falling from Killian's shoulder as she distanced herself further. "You went to Professor _Snape_?"

Without a word, Killian returned his gaze upon the White Tomb.

"Professor Snape betrayed Dumbledore!" Hermione cried. "He _murdered_ him!"

There was no response to be had, Killian simply sat in silence, quivering in his breath as he stared off blankly.

A sudden conflict of rage and agony burst inside of Hermione. She was sitting beside a person who had, essentially, aided in Dumbledore's assassination. The image of Killian and Professor Snape's footprints together the night of the attack flashed through Hermione's mind. As did Luna's report of Professor Snape hurrying to his office where he attacked Professor Flitwick before making his way to the Astronomy Tower. What were they doing together that night? What were they speaking of? What did Killian tell his mentor before he went off to forsake and murder the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived?

Leaping to her feet, Hermione turned back towards the castle, barely restraining her uncontrollable desire to strike at Killian where he sat. She needed to be away. She needed to be as far away from him as imaginably possible. It was no longer an emotion she could control. Her rage had overtaken her reason and she would not hold herself accountable for her actions. He had brought it upon himself.

As she took a step, however, Killian reached out, grasping Hermione by her inner thigh. She was sure that the location was unintentional, but it sent a shiver through her nonetheless.

"Please ..." Killian voice cracked once again, his eyes remaining fixed on their headmaster's tomb. "Don't leave."

Momentarily distracted, Hermione took a breath and looked down upon the figure who sat before her. He seemed so unfamiliar, like a person she had only known in passing. This lack of recognition hurt more than anything previous, as such a thing did not seem possible. Not between them.

Then, in a moment of clarity, Hermione saw it, she understood. Killian was broken. His pride and arrogance had evaporated away. For the first time since Hermione had met her reluctant Slytherin, he appeared overcome and beaten, both thoroughly and unequivocally. He had tried and had failed, choosing the wrong person to confide in, the wrong person to trust. Professor Dumbledore was dead, and Killian would have to carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life. There was nothing that anyone could do to alleviate that pain.

Almost immediately, Hermione's anger melted away. She wanted nothing more than to hold him, to take it all away and make it right. Although she knew that the latter was impossible, the former she could control.

Falling to her knees, Hermione threw her arms around Killian as tears streamed from her eyes. How had it come to this? She longed for the private dance they shared in the late night shadows. It felt like an eternity since they had been so innocent. Everything was so much simpler then. Killian was just an arrogant student with an infuriating grin and Hermione … nothing more than an incessant know-it-all who had gotten lost in the dark halls of Hogwarts after the Yule Ball. Lost souls who had found each other by a chance encounter that could just as easily never have been.

As Hermione knelt behind Killian, her hands gently caressing his chest as she lay her head upon his shoulder, Hermione made up her mind. All that she wanted, all that she needed, was within her embrace. It mattered not that everything about them seemed to be wrong. She did not care. He belonged to her … She would never let him go.


	18. Chapter 18 - Blood and Ashes

_Alas, the final chapter for Sins of the Father has been posted. Remember this is a story of "what if" ... What if Hermione took a walk after the Yule Ball and had a chance encounter with a classmate in the dark halls of Hogwarts? How would everything that happened in the canon story-line have played out? What happened in between the pages, when Hermione was not around Harry? Because this is not Harry's story, it is Hermione's. It is what could plausibly have taken place, without changing the events that occurred in canon._

 _With that said, this is only the end of the Half Blood Prince in canon ... Hermione's story has not ended just yet._

 _But I digress ... Please feel free to leave comments. I do not receive many, but cherish the ones that I do. Enjoy ..._

 _\- Chapter Ten -_

 _Blood and Ashes_

The term ended and summer began. Hermione and Killian continued their yearly ritual of sending letters, almost daily, to each other. The letters were simple and, for the most part, refrained from any mention of the horrors of the previous year. Mostly they wrote of the future, and how things would be once Hermione was finished with school. It all seemed rather fanciful, but it was a pleasant indulgence just the same.

Yet, even with their escape from the environment of Hogwarts, away from the drama and violence held within the world they both called home, it was not quite like it had been in the past. The reality was, neither Hermione nor Killian could erase what had happened, no matter how little they spoke of it or how often they dreamed of a life in their future. What is done cannot be undone, what is said cannot be unsaid. And while wounds heal and scars fade, neither are ever truly forgotten. It was a painful life lesson each were learning as the world continued to turn around them.

During the summer, Hermione and Killian had few opportunities to see each other in person. Oddly enough, it worked out for the better. Aside from the fact that Hermione truly loved the lost art of exchanging letters, she was also busy preparing for the upcoming year. She made a promise to Harry that she would stick by him regardless of his intentions. And this created a bit of a quandary.

As it was, Harry appeared set on not returning to Hogwarts, although he clearly had not thought much beyond that. And while Hermione did not find it to be a particularly intelligent or well thought-out decision, she had made a vow and was intent on keeping it. Aside from that, she still had a bit of time to try and convince him otherwise.

It was because of this hope that she had neglected to mention any of this plan to Killian. More secrets. Add them to the list.

Oddly, as Harry's birthday neared, the letters stopped rather suddenly. Had it not been for her time being so wrapped up in preparation, Hermione might have noticed sooner. However, arrangements were being made to get Harry away from the Dursleys'. This was because the moment Harry turned seventeen, the protective spell that had been placed on him would dissipate, and he would become vulnerable to Lord Voldemort and his minions.

The evening before Hermione was to set off and meet with the Order was a tempest of emotions. They needed to get organized before they made their way to Privet Drive, but Hermione had yet to put her own life in order. As she sat in her room that night, looking about at all of her belongings, she wondered if she would ever return to them again, if she would ever return to anything again.

Earlier that day, she had stood by her bedroom window, watching as her parents, believing themselves to be Wendell and Monica Wilkins, loaded their luggage into the car and headed off to catch a plane to Australia. It was the lifelong dream of Wendell and Monica, compliments of a very clever Memory Charm Hermione had placed upon them. They would leave the country, safe from any interrogations from the Death Eaters searching for Harry, unaware of their true identities, unaware of the daughter they were leaving behind.

Now alone, contemplating this new addition to her ever-changing reality, Hermione watched as an owl perched itself on her windowsill, holding a letter in its beak. It was then that she realized she had not heard from Killian in over a week. The entire summer they had not gone more than a few days without some form of communication or another. And suddenly, there was nothing.

Hermione retrieved the letter, which, strangely enough, seemed to smell of smoke and ash. Opening the folded parchment, she noticed it was smudged and dirty. She thought it odd that Killian would send any message in such form. Ron, she would believe. Then again, Ron did not write. Far too proper a practice. For Killian though … Very odd.

 _Dearest Hermione,_

 _I regret that I could not deliver this to you in person, but circumstances will not allow for it. By the time you receive this letter, I will have gone …_

Hermione did not read a single word further. Without thinking, she Disapparated from her room. Being that she was still barely a novice in this area, she was relieved when she saw that she Apparated across the courtyard of Killian's family estate, just a bit off from her intended location. Although, for the first time since she had begun using this particular form of transportation on her own, she felt the familiar and dangerous sensation of being pressed through water.

Dismissing it as a bad attempt due to her immediate reaction, negating the necessary concentration needed, Hermione had little time to think otherwise. For the moment she arrived, the source of the letter's odd aroma became evident.

Before her, Hermione saw large portions of the castle in ruin, some areas with nothing more than the stone foundation encircling the smoldering embers of the timbers within.

Her heart racing, Hermione darted across the courtyard towards the main entrance, a part of the estate that was mostly still intact. Bursting through the doorway, she saw nothing but destruction in every direction.

In the center of the foyer, there was a black leather overcoat draped over a chair. Aside the chair leaned an ebony shillelagh topped with a raven's talon clutching a polished silver orb carved with intricate symbols and designs. Both seemed oddly out of place amidst their surroundings, but Hermione was too distracted to notice. Her mind was a whirl with no plan or bearing presenting itself.

"P-politeness to you," came Kuulic's trembling voice from a broken doorway on the far wall. He was shivering, his eyes wide and watery, his hands folding and twisting in a nervous tick.

"Kuulic," Hermione asked weakly of the loyal, albeit odd-looking, house-elf. "What happened here?"

"Terrible things," Kuulic answered with a quiver. "Terrible things for Masters … All gones … All gones but one … Poor Master. You helps Master, yes?"

"All gone?" Hermione asked as she stepped over debris, making her way to Kuulic. "What do you mean? Where's Killian?"

"They comes," Kuulic explained. "Makes fires and pains for the Masters. Kuulic takes Master Killian aways. Kuulic does as tolds. But cannot gets the Masters … All gones."

"Kuulic," Hermione comforted as she knelt down in front of the house-elf, whose eyes were streaming uncontrollably.

"What are you doing here?" came Killian's voice from the top of the decimated staircase that ascended from the center of the foyer.

His tone was so drawling and distant that Hermione nearly did not recognize it. Even so, upon instinct and relief, she raced up the damaged stairs and embraced him, shocked to feel little reciprocation.

"You received my letter?" Killian asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered pulling back and looking into Killian's piercing eyes.

"Earlier than intended, I'm afraid," he went on, glaring at Kuulic.

"Gives forgiveness, Master?" Kuulic pleaded. "Kuulic knows he disobeys, but Kuulic wants to helps. Master is sads. Master's friend makes Master happy agains. Then Master no leaves."

With that, Kuulic began to fumble through the debris, finding a broken table leg and lifting it in an effort to punish himself for his offense against his Master. As he raised the leg, Killian pulled away from Hermione, and, with a flick of his wand, the leg flew from Kuulic's grip and lodged itself into a pile of burning embers.

"Kuulic!" Killian shouted, his tone even more frightfully unfamiliar than before. "I absolutely forbid you! If you place even a scratch upon yourself, I swear I will set you free!"

"No, Master!" Kuulic cried. "Kuulic will obeys! Please, no sets Kuulic free! Kuulic is Master's!"

"Then remember what I've said," Killian said, lowering his wand as Kuulic nodded nervously and exited the room. Killian turned back to Hermione, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to control his emotion. "He is a good servant. He tries. His intentions were … I wish he had waited to send you the letter as I had instructed. I see you did not read it all the way through."

"No," Hermione admitted. Although given the circumstances, it seemed a trivial point. "Killian, what happened? Where is everyone?"

"They're dead," Killian answered, his voice like ice. "All of them. My father, my mother, my … sister." He paused for a moment, his jaw clenched and flexing. "All of them. They didn't even spare the servants."

"Oh my God!" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth, a knot rising in her stomach. "Who?"

"Tanzar and his brood." Killian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Retribution for what occurred at the Outpost Embassy in Rature."

"Retribution?" Hermione cried. " _They_ came after _you_ in Rature!"

"Yes," Killian conceded. "But they saw you … They knew of you. I had no choice but to go to Yaxley before they could." He paused again, this time with greater effort than before. "Because they were right. All outsiders that become involved were to be eliminated. I couldn't allow …" Pausing a third time, Killian pressed his eyes closed, struggling to deny the release of pressure building inside of him. "They went to Yaxley and told him about you, how you were present during the events in Rature. I denied it, painting Tanzar as a sycophant looking to gain favor with Voldemort. As it turns out, my lies are far more believable than Tanzar's truths. Yaxley cast them away as liars and traitors."

Silence fell between them as Hermione processed the timeline of events. She had followed Killian to Rature. She was seen after the Dementor attack at Sulfos Bire's Outpost Embassy. Killian lied to protect her. And now Tanzar had sought revenge against the entire Finn family. Had this been her fault, her doing? Had she simply trusted Killian, as he had asked, would things have been different?

Yes, Hermione rationalized. Things would have been very different. Had she not been there, Killian would have died. And because he lived, his family had been murdered. One life exchanged for the lives of others.

Another thought popped into Hermione's mind. "The baby?" she pressed on, fearing the answer.

"He's safe … For now," Killian answered. "He's with my brother-in-law. They're under protection for the time being. My sister was visiting … Poor timing." He spoke as if he was referring to distant people of no relation, emotionless and cold.

Hermione placed herself in front of Killian, her hands on his cheeks, her eyes fixed intently upon him. As her Slytherin looked back at her, however, Hermione saw barely a shard of the person she had come to know. Desperately searching for something to say, she failed completely. What could she say? There were no words that could make any difference. Not this time.

"What are you going to do?" she finally asked.

Killian's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a fire burning beyond them that Hermione could almost feel beneath her fingers. He was looking at her, but his mind was far away, focused and centered.

"I'm going to find them," he began, the shadows about his eyes seeming to darken with his words, "and I'm going to _kill them all_."

Hermione hands slowly fell from Killian's face as a knot arose in her chest. She had heard such threats before. Harry had once threatened to find and kill Sirius Black when he thought Sirius had betrayed his parents. Even more recently, Harry had made a thinly veiled threat to kill Snape if they crossed paths.

But this was different. With Harry, these were simply words of anger and frustration. It never appeared as though Harry had any plan or inclination to actually follow through with his threats. He was fueled by emotion. With Killian, however, Hermione could see that these intentions were far darker than anything Harry had spewed from his incensed lips. This was not an idle threat. This was a suicidal promise that would, in one way or the other, end in death.

"This is insanity," Hermione said in a desperate plea for reason as she looked for some trace of emotion in Killian's face.

"You know _nothing_ of insanity," Killian came back.

"Then I'm coming with you," Hermione said instinctively, immediately questioning her own judgment.

"No, you're not," Killian countered, pulling away from Hermione. "You're staying with Harry and the others."

"Harry doesn't need me!" Hermione argued, still questioning her own emotionally fueled words. "He has the Order!"

"Yes," Killian agreed. "And as long as you stay near him, you will be under their protection as well."

A pinch of guilt washed over Hermione as she was reminded of the promise she made to help Harry find the remaining Horcruxes. She would not be at Hogwarts this year. And, as such, there would be no protection from the Order. Secrets … Secrets and lies.

Killian crossed beside Hermione and began down the stairs. This was it. This was the moment. He was leaving. She was losing him. In an act of hopeless desperation, her head pounding with conflict, Hermione drew her wand.

"Stop!" she shouted as the large ornate pottery vase at the base of the stairs—one of the few things in the hall that was still intact—was obliterated by her curse.

Killian immediately ceased his retreat from the room, turning to face Hermione, whose wand was directed squarely upon him.

"You don't get to do this!" she cried, forcing herself, with great difficulty, to enunciate as clearly as possible. Her voice wavered nonetheless, her emotions overtaking her. "You don't get to _die_!" she went on as Killian slowly made his way back up the stairs towards her, his hands raised in surrender. "You were my constant! You were … everything! With all that's happened ..." The tears welling in her eyes warped and clouded her vision as Killian drew closer with her every word. " ... It made it worth it … Everything was worth it … For us …" Killian was now upon her, Hermione's wand pressing firmly into his chest, his eyes taking her in, a grin on his lips. "I can't lose you … Killian … Please … Damn you, stop smiling!" she shouted in a mixture of anger and frustration.

But Killian did not concede, the pressure of Hermione's wand now nearly piercing his flesh as he stood before her. Slowly, he lowered his hands, one embracing hers as she clutched her wand, the other placed gently on her cheek. Blinking hard to clear the tears from her eyes, Hermione savored the touch of his skin on her own.

"Do you not remember?" he asked softly. "This is how we met."

A swirl of memories flooded back. The stairs, the drawing of her wand upon an unfamiliar student, the music, the dance, the emotions that awoke in her that night; a night that changed the course of her life forever.

Hermione no longer cared what consequences might come. Without a word, she threw her arms around Killian, pressing her lips to his. This time she found no resistance, their bodies interlocking like perfect pieces to an imperfect puzzle, finding their place in an ugly and fractured world. She could not think, she could not feel, she did not want to breathe.

In a frenzy of blind fervor, Hermione found herself in Killian's room, in his bed, allowing herself to explore, allowing herself to be explored. There were no words, just raw physicality as their bodies set to rhythm, indulging in the scent of his skin, the taste, the fear that her bite might draw blood from Killian's neck, exposed and tempting. She arched her back as Killian's hands gently studied her form, his lips caressing her every curve, her breath deepening as her muscles tensed and fluttered. Everything around them faded away. There was only this moment … The only thing that mattered in the entire world.

. . .

Exhausted and breathless, Hermione finally drifted off into a deep sleep, locked in Killian's embrace. It was a peaceful sleep, a visually dreamless sleep, filled with emotions and sensations in place of images and sounds. She felt her hair gently pulled away from her face, a hand softy drawn across her cheek ... A caress ... A whisper …

Abruptly waking, Hermione found herself alone. She was still at the Finns' estate, still in Killian's room, in his bed, wearing his shirt. But the manor was eerily quiet. Shaking a bit of clarity back into her head, she went over the previous night in her mind. Suddenly, feeling as though eyes were upon her, she reached for her wand and spun towards the doorway. There she saw Kuulic huddled over the threshold, nervous as ever.

"Apologies for waking," Kuulic said.

"That's all right," Hermione said, lowering her wand. "Just startled me, is all. Where's Killian?"

"Master asks me to takes cares of friend," Kuulic answered as he crossed the room towards the bed. "Makes Kuulic promise."

"Promise what?" Hermione asked, a rise of concern in her voice.

Without answering, Kuulic reached out and grabbed Hermione by the hand. To her surprise, she immediately felt the suffocating force of being pressed through water as they Disapparated from the Finns' estate to Hermione's bedroom.

"Kuulic!" Hermione shouted. "What are you doing?"

"Hates self!" Kuulic cried. "Hates self for doings it! But promises Master! Promises not to disobeys again!"

"Promised what?" Hermione asked. "Kuulic, take me back!"

"Can't takes back," Kuulic explained. "Barrier on grounds. Can't goes back. Master is gones."

"Gone?" Hermione put her hand to her forehead as her eyes glanced about her room for nothing in particular. "Where? Where did he go? You have to tell me!"

"Kuulic not knows where Master goes," Kuulic admitted sheepishly. "Master no says. Gives Kuulic letter for friend. Says friend must reads. Everything better when friend reads."

Kuulic presented Hermione with the same letter she received from the owl the previous evening. Hesitantly, she took the missive and sat down on her bed. For a moment it appeared as though Kuulic wanted to say something, but his mouth simply closed and he dropped his head. A second later, he Disapparated with a snap.

Now alone, Hermione slowly opened the letter and began to read.

 _Dearest Hermione,_

 _I regret that I could not deliver this to you in person, but circumstances will not allow for it. By the time you receive this letter, I will have gone. There is nothing left for me here. Nothing but you. And I fear that I can no longer protect you from the dangers that seek me out._

 _Because of my actions against Tanzar, he sought retribution from my family. When my father refused, Tanzar and his brood attacked with merciless rage, slaughtering them, burning our home to the ground, and leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. I, myself, only survived because of the selfless actions of Kuulic, whom I cursed vehemently for taking me away from the battle, but to whom I know I owe my life._

 _The reality of it is that Tanzar and his followers have been made utter outcasts on my word and will stop at nothing until they enact their revenge. They have nothing to lose and that is the most dangerous advantage that anyone can have. Their only mistake was that they have taken everything from me, everything but you. Because of this, I cannot be with you. Your life has been put in a danger that I cannot take away. I am now a threat to you. I cannot be that. I will not allow for it._

 _My choices are to sit and wait for Tanzar and his brood to find me or to go and meet them at the gates, taking the fight to them. I will not stand by idly and wait to die, so I have made my choice. I will hunt them, I will find them, and in the end, one way or another, this will be over._

 _If I fail in my endeavor, however, I need you to know that the last thought, the last vision to pass through my mind will be of you … of us … the very first night I embraced the touch of your skin, felt the warmth of your breath, saw the beauty in your eyes that I carry with me still. My only regret is that it is but a memory, as I would give everything I am to have but one last dance._

 _Alas, time stands still for no one, and I am no different. As I write this, every ounce of myself aches for you. You were the one person who could take my pain away, but I know now that it has become an impossibility. I would wish this manner of suffering on no one, and I cannot bear to cause you pain. So as my last gift, I take this pain from you. Know only that you are everything that makes me be, you are my hopes and my desires, you are my breath, you are my very soul._

 _Forever yours,_

 _Killian_

Hermione finished the letter, wiping the tears from her eyes, and pondered the gift Killian spoke of. What did he mean exactly? Take the pain away? While her mind searched for an answer, she began to feel dizzy, the room about her seeming to sway. As her consciousness wavered, Killian's cryptic words became clear. _Take the pain away_ … Killian had placed a Memory Charm on the letter! That was how he knew she had not finished it before.

Desperation set in as Hermione felt the charm taking effect. It was as if a thousand voices were screaming in her head all at once, each being silenced one after the other. She saw flashes of Killian disappearing in ghostly sequence. In the hall, on the staircase, in the courtyard, in her arms, his devilish grin … All gone, vanishing like smoke in the breeze.

Hermione's head was swimming as she lost her grip on the letter, which wafted towards the floor and disintegrated in a burst of turquoise flames. Falling back on the bed, the room faded in and out of clarity as sounds and images evaporated all around her in merciless fashion. In one final anguishing moment, everything went dark.

. . .

When she awoke, Hermione felt quite refreshed, although the muscles in her legs, oddly enough, were quite tired and achy. The first thing she saw was the clock on the wall, followed by the calendar just beside it.

 _I'm going to be late_ , she thought as she leapt from her bed, only then noticing the unfamiliar shirt she was wearing.

Her father's perhaps? She did not recall taking it, nor did she recall her father owning such a shirt. Then again, her mind had been a bit distracted since she had sent her parents away. Not recognizing a shirt would certainly be understandable.

As Hermione crossed the room, she caught a quick glance of herself in the mirror. The shirt seemed a bit Slytherin with its green and silver colors.

Distracted, she continued to admire herself, pulling her hair back and away from her face. It looked rather good on her, she thought. Far too good on her, in fact, to be her father's shirt, as he lacked quite a bit in the area of taste. Hermione assumed that someone must have bought it for him. It was the only plausible explanation. At least, she believed it was. For whatever reason, she was having difficulty organizing her thoughts at the moment.

Shaking her head for clarity, Hermione got herself back on task. She was late, and needed to meet with Moody and the others at Grimmauld Place so they could get Harry to safety. That was the number one priority at the moment.

Still, as she looked at herself in the mirror, Hermione felt a strange emptiness she could not seem to place. Something was missing. Her parents perhaps? It did not feel right, but she dismissed it as such.

Without another thought, Hermione went off to get cleaned up, removing the unfamiliar shirt and tossing it into a pile of clothes that were heaped in the corner of her room. There was still so much to do and time was short.

 ** _the end ..._**

 ** _... to be continued in Descent into Darkness_**


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